The Rescue
by Kaeru Shisho
Summary: When liberating Duo from a prison camp, Trowa is rescued from brainwashing, and both Quatre and Heero are free to love them. The war may be over but peaceful it is not.
1. Chapters 1 and 2

The Rescue

Summary: When liberating Duo from a prison camp, Trowa is rescued from brainwashing, and both Quatre and Heero are free to love them. The war may be over but peaceful it is not.

A/N: Thanks go to Waterlily for the edits

Chapter 1

His long fingers had a delicate touch, lingering on a stem of fragrant, white freesias and then removing and replacing it with a brilliant sulfurous-hued gerbera daisy. The quiet young man fine-tuned the arrangement with the addition of one more golden flower then stood back to study his creation. He smiled when he felt the warm hand of his lover on his arm.

"Trowa, that's lovely!"

"Thank you. Duo likes color and Heero likes scents. I think I've found the right balance. Yes. It's done." He caressed the creamy china vase. "I'll box this and then we'll go."

"You're sure? You seem, well, more subdued than usual. Second thoughts? You know they'd all understand if you cancelled. Duo's done that twice."

Trowa stared down at his hands a moment before taking one of Quatre's and holding tight. His lover was talking fast, rattling on, which meant he was anxious, so he should do what he could to quash his fears and reassure him that all was right with the world.

"I want to see them all, _him_ especially. I'm thinking clearly and I want to apologize in person."

Whether or not Heero, much less Duo, would allow him express his regrets and ask forgiveness for his transgressions was still open to discussion. He and Quatre had explored the problems many times from many angles, and so had their other friends _and_ their commander. Everything had been said, details revealed, and yet nothing entirely absorbed, wholly understood, and in part even totally believed to provide absolute closure. The Mission was over, but unfinished.

Was now the time for talking out the pros and cons or the issues? They would find out, and Trowa no longer wanted to be the one to fold; although, he might be left holding the cards again. For several weeks, Wufei and Quatre had arranged a meeting of them all, including Hilde, and on each occasion someone, usually Duo, had withdrawn his acceptance of the invitation and the gathering had been delayed.

"I will be there. I love you and believe in you."

_Unconditionally_—it was left unsaid but Trowa knew that Quatre understood he was no longer under OZ influence, that he was healing emotionally, and that he was very, very sorry.

"I wonder what it is I did to deserve you. Maybe I should believe in past lives? I must have saved you from certain death."

Quatre smiled and used their joined hands to draw the other man closer. "Forget the past. If you don't kiss me, I'll die of neglect now."

Trowa buried fingers in the silky, straw-colored hair and crushed his mouth onto the soft lips, feeling Quatre let him take charge. It felt good, like a return to the normalcy of day to day life and routine he craved. Since his repatriation from the clutches of OZ, Trowa had hesitated to take the lead in any aspect of their relationship. This time he hadn't let a heartbeat of time separate the supplication from the kiss.

They were so close that he felt Quatre's cell phone vibrating through his flannel slacks, the buzzing a reminder of the time. The two parted, but Trowa's arms still circled Quatre, refusing to let them part entirely.

"I'm sorry," Quatre said, "really."

"I know the time."

"Yes, well, we really should head over to Catherine's now. I have a good feeling about this."

Trowa didn't, really, have any justifiable reason to feel overly optimistic and he wouldn't lie to his lover. "I-I'm…,"Trowa paused after his voice caught in this throat, "…I'm getting a very good feeling about you right about now."

(o)

Six months earlier-

"… which sounds like it's a long time, but really, it's only the gestation period of a sloth," Duo said. "Makes me glad I don't have to go through nine with someone."

"Next time, I wanna be stuck with a man that likes _women_ for a change."

"I like women. I like you, Hilde."

"Duo, you _know_ what I mean."

I did, actually. I'm safe to partner with the ladies. Although guys thought I was lucky with the ladies, in reality I was more often than not just a supply line to Heero Yuy. I gave out his number to countless women. For all the good it did any of them. He may not have given me the time of day, but he didn't sleep with girls either. That actually made my one-sided affair from afar worse. I knew he was gay, but he wasn't interested one iota in me. My comfort being that he didn't appear to be interested in anyone, that I was aware of, and no one knew about my infatuation with him.

Except Hilde.

"And you know Une doesn't want interoffice romances."

Her expression soured. "I don't care. I have my eye on a wonderful man."

I knew who it was, couldn't imagine my serious-minded, wholly work-dedicated agent friend in an amorous entanglement, and snickered. "Fei's a _wonder_, all right."

"I want romance," Hilde said with a huge sigh trying to ignore his provoking comment. "After we escape this one, I wanna new job. A safer one."

"Yeah, me too."

"What? Romance or a new job?"

"Both, since we're playing make-believe here."

"C'mon. Let's get this show on the road." She checked her appearance in the signaling mirror one more time before hefting the basket to her back.

Under the cover of darkness, Hilde Schbeiker and I left the Marshfoot base through a secret gap in the fence. Cold mist hung over the fields and obscured the footpaths which partitioned the different plantings. We turned onto a smaller road and took off at a steady trot-walk-trot combination which we could hold for an hour at a time.

After a while, the sky shifted to a deep shade of lavender. The cold air took on a heavy swampy odor. A big tree loomed like a monstrous shadow at the bend in the road. Hilde paused, staring at the tree and suddenly the hackles rose on the back of my neck. This was the place where my friend, Trowa Barton, had last been seen.

We had come here together with Heero Yuy and Quatre Winner once after Trowa's disappearance, and learned nothing about what had happened to him. Once again, here we were.

"Duo?" She looked at me, visibly shaken, as if she expected me to pull optimism out of my hat, and I had nothing bright to say.

Trowa and Hilde had been on a mission, traveling along this stretch of the road, and she had stepped aside to relieve herself in privacy. When she'd returned, minutes later, he was gone. No sign or clue as to what had transpired. Not then, not later, and not now.

As our stalwart commander, Une, told us: "Subsequent to Trowa's disappearance, OZ has purported to have executed the pilot of Heavyarms."

Yeah, well, that hadn't seemed likely. Quatre maintained the unsubstantiated claim was false. He could "sense" the other man was still alive and well. When Heero joined us to investigate his disappearance, he couldn't make neither hide nor hair of the total lack of evidence and found it more perplexing than disturbing. However, as Wufei put it, if Trowa hadn't been executed, where the hell was he?

Oh, and when Wufei suggested, barely hinted, that it was conceivable for Trowa to have turned sides, Quatre stopped talking to him altogether. Of course, 'Fei and I remembered our moon base encounter with the OZ Trowa clearly. Kinda stood out in the memory bank. We hadn't known he was working undercover at the time. So I understood how Wufei had drawn that conclusion. Quat had not. Had he had a gun, I have no doubt that he would have shot 'Fei on the spot and not regretted it.

Hilde and I agreed to this mission: reconnaissance of the nearest enemy encampments, all three if necessary. As a last resort, we'd infiltrate, but I really, really didn't want to become a prisoner of OZ.

She shuddered as we passed the spot where Trowa had last stood. I whispered what I remembered of a prayer I'd learned as an orphan on L2 in Maxwell Church to safeguard us on this mission. It sounded childish and short, but it strengthened my grit. "God above I pray to you; be my guide in all I do."

After sunrise, Hilde slackened the pace, but we didn't rest for another hour. We sat behind some bushes and ate ration bars dusted with a sweet powder of sesame seeds, peanuts, and sugar. Later in the morning, a group of armed men, not in OZ uniform but of a side organization calling themselves the unimaginative name of The Resistance, stopped us on the road and asked me where we were going.

"We're going to live with our relatives in a village outside the province seat. On the coast."

At the time, there were many country-dwellers and city-folk on the roads displaced by intense fighting still going on I scattered pockets, so they found our answer credible and allowed us to go on our way.

"If we'd not been prepared, if it had been just you travelling alone," Hilde said, "like Trowa had been, I wonder what they would have done with us?"

"Nothing good," I said. Could Trowa have been captured by The Resistance, identified, and then traded for favors with OZ? Sounded credible to me. A man like him, with his talents and knowledge would be too valuable to simply leave languishing in some detention center.

We skirted several villages, taking mostly footpaths through endless, unchanging miles of turned fields, barren in early winter. I had never walked so far on Earth, and didn't like the cold dampness. My feet blistered. I assumed Hilde was just as miserable, but she didn't complain so I kept my mouth shut about it. We pushed steadily onward and reached our safe house by sunset.

(o)

My world filled with golden sunshine. The heat of it warmed my skin and haloed the head close to mine.

"If I kiss you, will you understand?"

I heard his whispered words and even felt a stirring deep inside. I answered back, "Go ahead and find out."

I couldn't see his face. I so desperately wanted to see his face again and feel his lips pressed against mine, the warm reality of his hands on me, the assurance that everything would be okay. His promise that I was walking the right path.

"_He betrayed you! They all did." _

The harsh words intruded on my sweet dreams. They always did these days. Voices drilling into me the hard truth, or _a_ hard truth, I fought not to believe. If only I could see that face, the face of a man whose name I could not remember but who I trusted more than the information stripped from my own mind, I would know _the_ truth. He'd never lie to me.

Maybe I didn't need to picture his face. Maybe just the thought of him would do. It would have to.

"_He betrayed you! They all did." _

"No." I said it aloud. "Not him."

After that, the warmth went away and my world plunged into darkness and pain. Mostly pain inside and out.

The mind is nothing but a collection of thoughts. These thoughts rise up in succession like the bubbles in a fish tank. All these thoughts that rise in the mind also appear to connect. And then they pop out of existence.

Pretty bubbles.

For ten minutes, I sat silently and observed the thoughts arising in my mind. I didn't try to control or stop thinking. I remained simply a silent witness to the thoughts bubbling up. The moment a thought came, I tried to quickly (can you knit a sweater from your dog's fur?) write it down on paper (I hate it when people confuse the words "reign" and "rein). Then, at the end of ten minutes I read whatever was written.

Rhfsodifasdkd! Sdjfosd sehehtasiofj slehlsdjflejdkl; llllllsjldksdjf

Mine was a mad man's diary.

Utter chaos.

There was no connection between the one thought and the next one. Only when I wrote down my thoughts did I see that my thoughts had no real connection. I might have thought about having a cup of tea and the next moment I would be thinking about blowing someone's head off.

All those pretty bubbles bursting.

- Trowa Barton

Chapter 2

"Go…away." Heero bristled as the door opened, hating the intrusion, but once he recognized the familiar blond head his anger cooled and his voice trailed away.

"It's just me," Quatre said as he joined Heero and Wufei in the Surveillance/Tracking room Preventers had made available to them. "Any change?"

"Not yet."

"The weather is bad," Wufei explained.

"When they reach the safe house we'll know." Quatre believed in technology.

"They should have gotten there hours ago." Heero was running fully on negative energy.

"The earliest they might have arrived was an hour ago," Wufei said, taking painstaking care to moderate his voice and leash in his hair-trigger temper. "With the weather and…other obstacles—"

Heero's eyes darted over the desk to land on Wufei, skewering him to his worn chair. "Every piece of filth on the planet is within five square miles of their route, and Une wouldn't okay some kind of backup a day behind them?"

"Maxwell is a capable agent and so is Hilde. They are just gathering data."

"So was Trowa," Quatre put in quietly.

Wufei huffed. "You're not helping."

"Sorry, but he was." Quatre turned to Heero, earnest in his desire to pull together. "The situation with OZ has worsened, and Trowa and Hilde weren't properly prepared for that. This time, Duo and Hilde are."

"I should have backed them up." Heero would not give an inch. "I listened to Une—"

"You followed orders, just like the rest of us," Wufei snapped. "I was there, too, if you'll recall. I offered to go with you and the commander said she wanted us ready to lead troops as counter measures _if and when_ Maxwell reported—"

In response to a flashing diode on his computer, Wufei jammed on the headphones and waved an arm in their direction. "Shhh!"

Heero and Quatre leaped from their seats and clamored around him to stare at the blank monitor expectantly.

Code scrolled over the screen. Duo had always laughed at the encoded gibberish and accused the device sensors of having shifted right one key on the keyboard. His presence could be felt in every part of the building, in every person he worked with, and most deeply in these his closest friends.

"Yes," Heero said as he freely interpreted the "02slash38" agent codes for Duo and Hilde.

"This is good. They made it past a checkpoint earlier and arrived at the safe house just this minute." Wufei sat back, smiling as if he'd done the locating himself. "There. Real time confirmation."

Heero murmured his thanks and ran a hand through his mussy hair, leaving it wilder than before.

"Think you can take a nap now?" Quatre asked him. "It's my turn to stay up."

"Yes, thanks. But let me know the instant anything—"

"I will."

(o)

We were chilled to the bone. It was a shack, no power, leaking water, and smelling of mildew, but wonderful.

"Provisions!" Hilde shouted after opening a cabinet. "And dry cots."

I hopped a puddle on the floor. "Any big pots or buckets to collect water?"

"No."

Through a doorway was the only other room. "Bathroom. No shower, but there's a sink and toilet."

We discovered how well a fire-starter kit could ignite even green wood and eventually warmed the hut and laid out our wet clothes to dry. We broke out more rations, including soup packs to heat.

Hilde popped our foot blisters, applied ointment and bandages. "We'll be good to go another twenty miles or so."

"Swell."

By morning the next day we were rested, dry, and ready to move on. We took the main road toward the province seat, where The French Alliance ruled. The largest OZ camp was a few miles beyond that. As far as our information told us.

Sweetwater at the time was a twilight territory much like Marshfoot had been a year ago. The French Alliance controlled the countryside during the day, and apparently the Resistance took over at night. We stayed on the well-patrolled highway, avoiding back roads that were watched by OZ and bandits. OZ considered people crossing over to the French Alliance area as traitors and regularly executed them as such.

Not that I'd go against orders just for the hell of it, but I had my doubts about this being a successful mission. Une was certain he was a prisoner. I was not, at all. If Trowa were captured, he would get my vote for most able man to get free on his own, but if not, then that left the grim alternative no wanted to accept. Could Quatre be wrong and Trowa actually was dead, killed months ago? Who'd want to believe their lover had been captured by the enemy, tortured, and left to die? I had a hard time thinking Quatre would risk my life agreeing to a wild goose case. I had to believe he wouldn't jeopardize my life on false hopes. Even for Trowa.

So, on a hunch that he was maybe trapped someplace, holding out between enemy camps, even injured, I shouldered this misbegotten mission to investigate, locate, and extract him.

Hilde had been working in the area for a year, off and on with Trowa. She knew the French Alliance troops at each checkpoint and bribed our crossing all the way through to the provincial seat. There, she bought French papers with new false identification that allowed us limited travel rights- as long as we gave the OZ camp wide berth. And if the Resistance kept tabs on the folks they'd stopped before, the people we had been were now gone.

"_Eric Martin_? For Christsakes! Who came up with that name?" I cried out because it was my only way to vent. I hated getting made-up names that I hadn't made up.

"Not me!" she retorted. "They don't let us peons come up with our ID's. Oh, God. I'm _Rene Martin_. Oh well, at least I'm allowed to go natural this time. I'd been blond with Trowa and if it had lasted any longer I'da had roots to deal with."

If it had lasted longer, Trowa might still be an agent and we wouldn't be on this mission in this godforsaken place. I didn't say that but I thought it hard, and then we left the depressing conversation to dissipate on its own. I didn't want to start thinking about Trowa and his situation in all its possible combinations and outcomes. Ours was bad enough.

The passage was surreal. It happened in a blur of exhaustion and confusion. We weren't alone by any measure. Clusters of forlorn, homeless people tramped the same path, more joining us from narrow side routes.

"Running from OZ," one man shared. "Burned our entire village to the ground. We hope my wife's family on the coast will take us in."

"Yeah, us too." It was our lie and it worked because it was his truth.

After passing through Sweetwater, in a pounding rainstorm, we missed our turnoff to the safe house. We had to get out of the weather or get sick, so we circled back. The second time we passed by the location without finding it, I admit I was near to panicking. When Hilde suggested we dish out the cash to stay in the next inn or boarding house with vacancy we could find, I said yes.

(o)

I dreamed about going to a beach with Quatre, and even though beaches aren't so much his thing he went along with it. Along the way we came upon a waterfall where there used to be a mill, judging by the remaining rock wall. There was a nice pond behind it with fall leaves, although it didn't feel fall-like in my dream. It was warm- bonus.

Anyway, we were dressed for fun in the sun on a beach. Unfortunately, it was not a shell beach, but there were lots of tiny white or nearly clear pebbles, and rounded pieces of white shells, which I had to collect so I'd have something else to fill a jar with and display on a shelf, when I finally put up a shelf, which I'm this close to dealing with when I get back home. Of course, picking up damp pebbles on a chilly, foggy beach does make one, well, chilly, but we got back to the car before my fingers went numb, and it was a nice counterpoint to having been too hot.

Home.

Now that I think about Quatre, it hurts. I miss him so much. It's getting harder and harder to remember him, to picture him. If I lose him, I lose myself.

"_Shoot!"_

I contemplated the order, rolling it over in my mind trying to make sense of it:

"_Kill them!"_

The men commanding me called _them_ the enemy, but all I saw were five frightened unarmed men too frail to be of any danger to me. Where had my judgment gone?

I tried to find my center. I tried recall a face, a boy's face, now a man. I felt that if I could see him, I'd know what to do. From the moment we met, he considered me a friend. He'd know if shooting these men was justified.

I couldn't conjure him or anything of my safe places—mental havens safe from the horror I lived. I could remember having memories of places and people I could go to for healing and advice. For some reason, my mind had closed those off from me. Was I protecting myself from myself?

"_Shoot them now or we'll cut off your balls!"_

My sexual needs seemed a small thing when compared to the lives of five men, total strangers pathetic-looking as they shivered in their torn t-shirts and soiled pants.

Better to bend in the wind than to break. Those words of counsel cut through the fog of my brain, words I thought had faded with the memories of a different man, a friend, Chang. Better to bend … than to break.

Had this gem of wisdom originated with Confucius, and more importantly, was his advice good? My recollection of the man was that he'd been one to instruct, but not particularly _be_ instructed—nor was he very pliant.

"_They are your enemy. They burned your village to the ground, killed your sister, took away everything you remember. They murdered your friends."_

Bend …or… break. I felt flexible.

Blam! Blam! Blam, blam, blam!

- Trowa Barton


	2. Chapters 3 and 4

Chapter 3

Quatre entered the room after taking his break and was nearly bowled over by waves of panic. He wasn't sure if it was all his own anxieties playing in his brain or a mix of what was in the air. "Are they late- again?"

"They are not _late_; they are _completely_ off schedule!" Heero said through gritted teeth.

"When unexpected events force a change in the plans, Duo's been known to rely on his intuition and formulate creative—"

"'Flying by the seat of his pants'—that's how he'd put it- was not in the mission specs!" Heero snarled.

"You're being very hostile, Yuy."

Heero's next words come out as more of a snarl. "You noticed?"

Wufei stood and stretched his back. "Why? They've been on more difficult and dangerous mission before without you coming undone. What's your particular problem with this one?"

"Everything. We lost one agent and so we send two more the same way to the same place and expect what miracle to happen? I didn't like the plan when it was first outlined and like it less and less now."

"You suspect Hilde." Wufei said what Heero had carefully left out.

Wufei and Hilde had been dancing around one another for the past year; he was terrified of appearing weak or needy and she was equally petrified of frightening him off. Although he didn't talk about his feelings or his relationship, Wufei would be quick to defend her honor.

"Oh, no!" Quatre cried out. "She's not to blame. Stop this. Stop this at once!"

"I didn't say that." Heero backed off. "I don't think it either, Chang. Damnit anyway! If I had, I would have said something before I let…ah… watched Une assign Duo to go with her."

Wufei dipped his chin, acknowledging the truth. He sighed and his breath was shaky. "The tension is getting to us all."

"That's right," Quatre agreed. He studied Heero's face speculating on what his friend been about to confess, wondering just how much influence Heero believed he had over Duo's assignments. Or how much Heero wanted to protect Duo? He wondered if Heero had disclosed his feelings for his fellow agent yet, as he'd said he would.

With both men staring at him, Heero tried explaining his thoughts. "It's more that… I think it's obvious she's not the target. As long as we keep sending them ex-Gundam pilots, however, they'll keep capturing them."

"That _should_ stop us from making plans to go in after them," Quatre concluded logically. His roguish expression said otherwise, though. "So, let's devise our own plan."

(o)

The river-fishing village of Drain at dusk looked like a beached fishing trawler Heero and I had once had to search for smuggled drugs. The power lines were askew like broken rigging and garbage piled in the streets like spilling bilge muck. It was an unsettling sight that hurried us into the nearest hotel by the square.

We took a room, unloaded our heavy bags, and hid anything of value. Money and weapons we kept under our clothes.

I wanted to signal the home office as best I could that we had settled in for the night. I imagined Quatre suffering under Wufei and Heero's verbal strikes, critiquing our job execution every step of the way. A delay in checking in would drive them nuts, but missing a check in would send them over the top and scrambling to launch a full scale extraction with hovercraft evac units.

Or maybe I was ascribing to Heero some of my own feelings. Would he care enough about what happened to me to come after me against orders? It was possible that Une might just cross us off the list and move on to the next agents to find Trowa, her favorite agent by far. I doubted Wufei would let Hilde, a woman!, go down without attempting a rescue operation, him as his outmoded L5 ideas of gallantry.

Okay, I was getting a little depressed. I knew the others wouldn't leave us to rot in the field. I didn't want them to worry unnecessarily, though, so I got to work making a clever emergency signaling device.

"What are you doing to your watch?" Hilde asked.

"If I can get this thing to send out one blip, just one, then he'll…ah… Preventers will know we made it to a safe place for the night."

"A signal? Jesus, Duo! If there are sniffers around they'll get wind of a tech device and start searching. Preventers can wait."

"I got it ready." I put it in my pocket. All I had to do was push in the time-set button and a single double-pulse for "02" would be emitted. I could only hope the safe house we couldn't find was not compromised and had its receiver/transmitter in working condition. Otherwise, this tiny signal would be too weak to get picked up by anyone "good".

"Don't worry," I told her on our way out the door of our room, "I won't try anything until we are outside in a crowded place. It'll be okay."

The streets were dark and a smell of smoke was in the air. When we passed a knot of teenagers, I pressed the button and prayed. If the adjustment I'd made worked, if the transmission wasn't garbled, if the transmitter picked it up and boosted the signal strong enough to make it to the field office, then I knew Heero would understand it and maybe relax a little bit more. Heero might not have had a romantic interest in me, but he would be damned if he didn't track my missions.

We walked into a restaurant half a block down the street. During dinner, there was some commotion in the street. Down at the fisherman's wharf, a gunfight broke out between a local OZ regiment and some French Alliance officers in civilian clothes trying to board a ship. A French major was killed, his men captured.

Hilde dragged me back to our room. "We have to stay out of trouble. Remember our mission!"

"Yeah, yeah, but damn! These French ID's we got won't get us much further. Eric Martin—do I even _look_ like an Eric Martin?"

(o)

Today I'd seen terrible things and didn't want another nightmare-filled night, so I tried to recall the guidance of a man who'd been a friend in my veiled past.

This time the vision spilled like the blood I'd seen, oozing slowly, flowing from one scene to another. It had happened long ago after a bloody fight with our Gundams. He had wielded the scythe of death, I remembered, though not his name. We were bunked together and he asked me how I got past it all and got to sleep at night.

"I don't," I told him truthfully. "If I'm beat like now I just pass out, I think. What about you?"

He told me he fell back on his upbringing, such as it was, and chuckled somewhat darkly. He prayed. To God. "You can try it, if you like," he said.

He taught me a few of his prayers and I found that repeating the litanies led to believing the words and that actually helped a little.

So, I tried now. I'd forgotten what the boy looked like and what his voice sounded like. I struggled for the words, but a small warmth radiated from deep inside my chest, melting away a little of the deadly apathy that had numbed my spirit.

"God." I began with that. "Forgive me for I have sinned."

I knew this was right when I heard the cackle of laughter in the background.

But it wasn't his, I knew that. It was theirs.

I wanted to sleep, but they made certain I was awake, icing the soles of my feet, then burning them with matches. They'd let me sleep when I denied everything, even his God.

- Trowa Barton

Chapter 4

The two Preventers agents, Wufei and Heero, and single independent consultant, Quatre, expected Duo and Hilde to report in with some news this day. There were several possible incarceration camps between the river town of Drain, which they should have passed by now, and the coast. Trowa might be at any one of them. They needed to know where to send in an extraction team.

"Call in anytime, Maxwell. Pick an installation and survey the place." Wufei talked to himself as if he could direct the agent's actions by will power alone. "What's taking you so long?"

Heero stared at his coffee, leaving Wufei's unanswerable question to hang in the air while his mind raced to fill in with fruitless possibilities.

Quatre didn't think Heero's mental state would improve until he'd told them what was eating away at him. He had a pretty good idea that Heero's problems revolved around his feelings for Duo, and that bottling it up was damaging his friend's coping abilities. Before the group-anxiety ratcheted up to the breaking point as the check-in deadline neared, he decided to break the ice.

When Quatre spoke, his sudden interruption actually startled Heero. "Did you tell him?"

"Tell who what?" Wufei asked even though Quatre had directed his inquiry at Heero, not him.

Heero looked up then frowned and shook his head. "No, not that it's any of your business. Now forget it."

"Oh, Heero. You said—!"

"I know!" Heero exploded, pounding the table hard enough to crack the laminate. The release of stress gave him control over his breathing and after a couple deep breaths, his voice. "I _know_ I said I would. I know, but I couldn't let him go on a mission with _that_ to think over. I couldn't make _me_ a distraction."

"Distraction? How about giving him something to look forward to?"

"You are so sure he would react…positively," Heero grumbled.

"He would! You know that! Anyone can tell, even… Wufei here knows."

Wufei, guessing what they were talking around said, "Oh, of course. Maxwell wears his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see, except you, apparently. So, your 'mad-on' is all about not having bared your soul to that idiot before he left on a mission? I wouldn't worry. He knows how you feel. He's just waiting for the right time, and I quote, 'to jump you'."

Heero slumped with his head in both hands. "God. I told him I had something important to tell him when he got back."

Quatre perked up. "That's good, Heero! He'll want to complete the job and get back quickly all safe and sound."

"You don't think he'd want to avoid some confrontation with me?"

"He'll want to hear what you have to say. It could only be good. You wouldn't have said that if you'd meant to hurt him."

"No, I wouldn't." Heero looked relieved for about ten seconds. "What's that?" he asked when the incoming transmission beeped.

"Just a blip," Wufei determined.

"Move over." Heero keyed in a higher signal-enhancement level and removed more background distortion. "Duo! It's an '02'!"

Wufei studied the many-times relayed signal for distortion. "You are right. It's real and not just noise. I missed that."

"They're okay, then, but not at the safe house?" Quatre asked.

"That's how I interpret it. He wouldn't mess around with us."

"But they are off mission specs." Wufei met Heero's eyes directly. "I don't know how he rigged that message to get through, but it didn't originate at a safe house."

(o)

At 2:00 AM Hilde woke me and said, "I had a dream. OZ came here and arrested us."

Drowsy, I didn't understand what she was trying to say. "They came to our house?"

"Not the house. Here! This room!" she exclaimed. "They jailed us."

My friends are gifted with super-normal abilities. I have come to appreciate that fact and to make use of it. I believed Quatre when he claimed he felt our life substance beating in his heart. That's why I wanted to believe him when he said Trowa was alive. And that's why I agreed to come on this stupid mission.

Hilde often had uncanny premonitions.

I shot out of bed. There was nothing to do except hide the weapons and the bulk of our money, the credits and not what Hilde had sewn into the seams of our clothes. Leaving the hotel in the middle of the night would surely get us shot.

The OZ patrol came to the hotel within the hour and began searching. We stood in the corridor with another family with children while they ransacked the rooms. They missed the money and weapons hidden beneath ripped up floorboards. Good for us that the soldiers were incompetent kids younger than us and poorly trained.

"We'd been told out-of-towners had been seen in a restaurant nearby wearing bandoliers of ammunition under their clothing," one of the troops said.

It was possible the bulges under our coats looked questionable, but many folks wore bulky layers that looked even more suspicious, I'd thought. We hadn't been locals, that was the problem and it had drawn distrust our way.

"The government has declared martial law and all non-residents of Drain are to leave the city and go home with the dawn," the officer in charge informed us a few minutes later.

Since that was exactly what we were planning to do anyway, we were more than happy to comply, not suspecting any deception. Well, not completely.

"We'll leave everything but our cash and knives here," I told Hilde. "We have a couple safe houses left where new munitions are laid in."

Hilde felt exposed without a sidearm. I insisted, though. If we were caught leaving and armed, we'd surely be shot on sight. "You saw them. Touchy guys. Besides, either of us could take one of those guys down in-hand-to-hand."

The previous day the checkpoint into Drain only had a couple of guards who'd waved us through without a word. Today, leaving the village on the far side, the border stop was staffed with many soldiers in OZ uniforms and, curiously, civilians wearing French Alliance armbands. They signaled us to stop. Other families were waiting, sitting by the side of the road while their wagons, cars, or belongings were searched.

"I'll take your identity cards," an officer told us. "We are looking for traitors with concealed weapons."

The OZ men were well armed, I noticed, while the Alliance civilians executed the searches through the luggage.

"We should be okay 'cause we got rid of everything," Hilde said.

I didn't reply, but I thought we were certainly in trouble. Guerillas frisked us, found and confiscated the knives, and then searched our simple belongings. I was impressed with their discipline. When they came upon our cash, they left it in place. They didn't even take my watch, which hid a state of the art communicator. After about half an hour of searching without finding weapons, they told us they must take us back to the city to wait for orders from their superiors.

I hoped this would get us closer to finding Trowa and didn't fight them, but when men with AK-47s riding motorcycles showed to escort us back to Drain, it became clear then that we were under arrest. Whoever engineered the capture was very devious. Arresting out-of-towners last night would have caused considerable commotion. Some might have escaped. But today, by ordering non-residents to leave town, they netted everyone since there was only one road in and out of Drain. Catching people at the checkpoints was clean and efficient.

We could have escaped and might have taken that course of action had we been thinking straighter, not been so worn from the foot travel and anxiety in general. But we went along with the escort thinking that this way might lead us faster to Trowa, if he'd been held by these people. For all we knew, though, he was with the Resistance, or dead, despite Quatre's feelings.

"We should have hidden our cash reserves better," Hilde hissed.

"You sewed them into the seams fine. So what if a few bills came loose? They didn't seem interested in the money."

"They must have arrested us because of it, though!" Her eyes looked up at me wide and fearful. "It's cash, not creds. They probably don't know anyone can buy _dollars_ on the black market in Sanc. They could charge us for being spies!"

"I'm sure they know about the black market. Look, there are other families being sent back. Not just us. All these other people are carrying everything they own just like us. They have money, too." I tried to sound reassuring. I didn't need my partner's panic multiplying my own. We didn't know at the time that all non-residents of Drain who tried to leave the village that day were arrested. It had just been a good guess on my part.

"What should we tell them?" Hilde whispered. She looked more upset than before. The fear of what internment for a young woman could be like had to be getting to her.

I repeated our story with all the calm and confidence I could muster. "I'm a collector and seller of scrap metal and you're my wife. Tell them we were heading to the coast where we have family and heard the fighting was over."

"What if the fighting has started up again?"

"They don't know when we left. On the road, who knows what news is right or wrong?"

"They could ask us to prove when we arrived here and where we stayed."

"I'm sure the hotel registry lists us. Listen. In this chaos, they won't have the time to check what we say. We have to stay cool, hope they believe us, and they might let us go."

"If they believe us," Hilde echoed, skeptical all the way.

Her face was taking on a sick pallor. Beads of sweat trickled down from her forehead. She was terrified for good reasons. As a former mecha pilot and later as a high-ranking Preventers' agent in the Special Forces, she could certainly expect serious punishment should her ID be made. Seeing her in distress made me think about my own situation, which was worse. I had been a very visible Gundam pilot and later worked for a secret project organization, which was a well-known front for Preventers. It would not matter to OZ or any of these enemy groups that I'd been drafted.

A heavy silence fell on us. The fear and tension was so palpable even the birds flitting from bush to bush in search of winter berries became ghostly quiet. As we re-entered Drain, the lead escort turned down a side street.

"They are not taking us to the town hall!" Hilde cried. "They are going to torture us!"

Our convoy turned toward the gate of a huge compound enclosed by walls and barbed wire. There was a sign at the gate: Drain Prison. My heart jumped in my chest.

"A prison?! Why didn't we know about this one?" Hilde demanded. I could tell she wanted to flee, but there was nowhere to escape to now.

"Must be new and totally off the map," was my guess.

Hilde frowned at me. My attempts at any humor eluded her under the circumstances. "There aren't any maps."

The escort had us wait next to a dozen civilian cars, goat-carts, and bikes and ordered us to leave everything except a small bag of food apiece. Hilde especially found it difficult to leave a small fortune in plastic explosives sewn into her backpack's binding.

Rather than the endless numbers of high-security, cold-stone cells typifying the OZ moon base prison, this looked to be a more conventional small-town lockup, a compound of four long, single-story buildings forming a square and enclosing a large courtyard. That plus the mix of uniforms, badges, and identifying armbands of the men in charge gave me hope that this wasn't an OZ operation and that our stay would be temporary.

Apparently, I could pull hope out of nothing at the time. Quatre must have been rubbing off on me, and not in a hot-gay-man way.

The main entrance had a thick, iron door. In the courtyard, I estimated a crowd of about two hundred sat, guarded by fifteen guerrillas and civilians with red armbands, a mixed lot. We were told to sit and wait. The escort gave our identity cards to a clerk.

At first, the crowd reminded me of the refugees that flooded Sanc the past month. They had small bags and luggage by their sides, babies crying in their arms. Their children ran around playing, oblivious to the situation. Hilde jabbed me in the ribs.

"They got to keep more of their stuff."

"They have children," I pointed out.

But, instead of fatigue and sadness, I saw fear. An ominous air hung over them. They gathered in family units and whispered among themselves. Some glanced at us when we sat down next to them, but they didn't say a word or even give a signal of acknowledgment. No one wanted to be associated in any way with a possible spy, and any one of us could be just that. Everyone was waiting his turn to called into the temporary tent set up at the center of the courtyard to fill out some sort of declaration form.

It began to drizzle, adding to the general misery of the day. I was tempted to do something stupid several times. Grab an automatic and take down as many guards as possible while Hilde ran to free anyone she could, and look for signs of Trowa. Since that wasn't in our mission parameters and infiltration was, I sat and made certain Hilde followed my example.

Our call didn't come until sunset.

There was barely enough light to fill out our declaration forms. We were not allowed to talk. Although the OZ representatives had been telling us all day over the loudspeaker that the more truthful and complete we were in our declarations the sooner we would be released, I did not trust them. Judging from the number of detainees that day in the courtyard, I figured they had at least five hundred forms to review, and they would likely have many more in the coming days.

I became very depressed thinking about that. The more time they had, the more likely it was that they would uncover our identities. Hilde and I only needed a few hours to discover if this was a possible holding location for Trowa, and then we needed to move on to search more likely internment camps for clues. One of us would have to get away!

Once we finished with the forms, they immediately took us to our cells. They led Hilde off to the ward reserved for women and children. I went to one of two different wards for men, not the one on the right-hand side, but the one at the back facing the front of the compound.

My cell was a single large room, roughly 30 feet wide and 140 feet long. At one end of the room was an open washing area equipped with only one squat toilet and a cement tank filled by a single faucet. The person using the toilet had to hold up a sheet of newspaper for a modesty screen. A bank of small windows with iron bars lined the inner wall above head height. To look outside, one had to jump up and grab hold of the bars. During the day, they opened the outer sheet-metal door to air out the cell. Twice a day, guards passed food though the inner door's iron bars: mildewed rice and a foul broth that gave everyone diarrhea.

As one of the first inmates, I was able to pick a spot on a raised cement platform far away from the toilet. Our captors had arrested so many people that they didn't even have time to search our bodies. All they did was take our names, then incarcerate us. With only the clothes on my back and a money belt lined with thin bills hidden beneath my trousers, I took off my shirt and laid it down on the floor to mark my spot. I checked the blades slipped into the lining of my boots, the wire woven into my braid, which were all the potential weaponry I had left. My knives and doctored-up watch with locator had been left with my backpack, by orders. Who knew if I'd see any of that stuff again?

My neighbors arrived. A young man in his late twenties and an older man in his forties with graying hair, both northerners heading to the coast like, allegedly, I was. I could tell they were of the middle class by their mannerisms and speech, which was a relief since it was unlikely that they were spies planted among the inmates to gather information. Like me, as my story went, they were aiming to find a boat to escape the terrors of being trapped between the Alliance, the new Resistance, and the OZ invasion.

(o)

I'm forgetting things. I'm unable to keep my thoughts ordered and I'm not able to see things in the right perspective. I leave unfinished ideas everywhere. I cannot even finish a sentence, except when I concentrate and type slowly on the ancient typewriter I've been given. One thought is interrupted by other unconnected thoughts, stepping on one another, and cluttering my head.

There's no…continuity.

No focus. My concentration is shot and I'm restless. I can't sleep for shit, which more than anything makes me irritable, even angry, for no reason. I'm constantly feeling frustrated. And depressed. My whole life is in a shambles.

Mostly I find myself doing nothing. I can't imagine enjoying anything. There's no fun. My friends are gone. Everything fits in one vast negative space.

I killed 20 men in cold blood.

I am amazed at how easy this has become. I'm a natural, I'm told. A killer. And now I will have the chance to rid the world of the worst enemies. I will be tested soon. If I perform acceptably, then I will be allowed to go after the other offenders. I will become a hero to the state and an important man.

In a flash came a vision of eyes glaring into mine and an overwhelming feeling of remorse, and the name: Heero. I'd been traveling with him on trip of penance. He couldn't bring back the men he'd murdered, not any of the people he'd killed by accident or on purpose. Atonement hadn't worked for him and probably it wouldn't work for me, either. I'd have to live with the guilt, knowing the pain I'd delivered to the families left behind. Forever. Just like him.

Everything in the past died yesterday, and everything in the future is born today.

- Trowa Barton


	3. Chapters 5 and 6

Chapter 5

"I'm taking Heero out for a walk."

"You do that." Wufei lifted his eyes from the wall of technical apparatuses and spun a dial haphazardly.

"I won't be in a hurry to come back, unless you hear anything," Quatre added _sotto voce_, to no positive effect. From the expression on Heero's face, he'd probably overheard him anyway. Quatre smiled and cleared his throat. "We'll bring back dinner."

"Nothing Thai. I'm still suffering from yesterdays' chili burn."

Quatre straightened his tie and collar in the reflective glass over an old group shot. It was an uncommon moment captured on film: Trowa, Quatre and Duo standing serious faced, while Wufei and Heero shared a joke. If you looked closer, you'd notice that the three in back were sporting red bow ties and the two jokesters, center-front, wore ordinary sober, black ties.

They could all use a good practical joke right about now. Trowa popping up in a safe house or some restaurant, then everyone coming back home, would be one nice scenario.

There had been no word from Hilde or Duo since the "not an aberration, Chang" signal from, possibly, Duo on the road someplace. Wufei had blown up twice when Heero had diagramed a rescue mission on napkins, once at Heero and the next time at Quatre for encouraging him.

"Yuy, forget it. Une would have your license before you got your ass out the door."

"I'll be long gone before she hears anything."

"No, you won't because I'm calling her right this minute." Wufei had a finger on the interoffice phone button.

"He's just worried about Duo."

Wufei nearly slapped Quatre silly for stepping in and supporting Heero against his better judgment. "You don't think I'm worried about _Hilde_, and Duo, _both_?"

"Oh, I didn't mean…"

Heero wasn't backing off so easily. "We can't just sit here while they're out there-"

"Yes, we can and we will. I'm not letting you jeopardize their mission, their lives, your livelihood-."

The argument never came to blows, but it had been close. A natural negotiator, Quatre, had them settle on a number of days, after that even a dozen Preventers agents couldn't keep him from going in.

(o)

The jailhouse quickly filled with detainees. OZ was conducting sweeps of the entire countryside for anyone they deemed loyal to the former regime or partial to freedom for the colonies, or any enemies of theirs from previous wars. This could be just about anyone. They didn't assign us numbers for identification and didn't call us prisoners or inmates. They called us traitors. "Traitors come to the cell door." "Traitors eat." "Traitors shut up." I got tired of the whole shebang pretty quick.

Within days, the huge room became crowded with "traitors." At night when we lay down to sleep, it was impossible to walk across the room to the toilet without stepping on bodies. There was not even space to hang-dry our sodden clothes, so despite the chill, we wore them dirty and damp. We slept next to each other, cramped, a jumble of elbows and knees. We exercised by standing up and sitting down. I wondered constantly about how Hilde was holding up. She'd never been jailed. She'd had to do without and was a tough lady, but prison camp could wear a person down fast.

As I had feared, an announcement finally came over the loud-speakers: "Attention all traitors: You now have a chance to confess your crimes against the country. You will be judged on your honesty. You are to write down every detail of your life, jobs, family, and background. Any inaccuracies will be considered an attempt to deceive the liberation government and you will be severely punished. If you lie, you will be executed."

Yeah, well, that last part was a given no matter what, I guessed.

They brought us outside a few at a time, sat us down at the rows of tables, and handed out pencils and booklets of paper. I pretended to scribble for the benefit of the moles among us, but I couldn't write a word. I couldn't bring myself to reveal my service record, but I was equally afraid of being caught in a lie.

What came to my mind was Heero's face staring darkly and promising to tell me something of personal significance after I got back. Right. That was compelling. After him, I pictured our commander, Une. She had once told us that there was no forgiveness in the OZ canon.

If they knew my background, they would have already executed me, without hesitation. That meant that they hadn't studied all the ID cards yet. Of course, my face-forward shot didn't show my tell-tale braid, nor much semblance to my teenage terrorist image. It carefully looked like nobody, so it might take time to find me out. Hilde, too.

Ironically, if I had been caught on L2, where I was rarely assigned missions, the neighborhood informants would have promptly exposed me. In Drain, I had the singular advantage of anonymity, although I did not know how long that would last.

I suspected three things: first, OZ had no qualms about executing anyone they deemed guilty; second, they gave no honor to their enemies, so in their minds, promises made to prisoners were meaningless; and third, I had never heard of OZ showing mercy to those they could not brainwash.

I wrote that I'd been a scrap yard worker exempted from the draft.

The following day, we were given another chance to write about our crimes against the state, the country, and the universe as a whole. They repeated this tactic several times, trying to find discrepancies in our confessions. During the first week, they held public trials and executions in the town's village square.

Never once did I see hide nor hair of any Trowa Barton. This had become a dead end.

I'm a scrapper. I'm a scrapper, I insisted unvaryingly in my tablet.

I was a high-stakes gambler at a roulette table, the little white ball going round and round. In a room so crowded, you couldn't move two feet in any direction without touching someone, yet I felt utterly alone. My secrets settled in my stomach, as indigestible as a rock.

After a week of this mild torture, they started releasing the women and children. When Hilde got out, I felt our chances of survival had increased significantly. She walked out of the prison gate and went directly to the nearest market. With the money she'd sewn into the lining of her pants, she bought food, medicine, a blanket, toiletries, and then came right back to the prison. She brought me the supply package that kept me from succumbing to illness.

"You must have scoured the village for all these." I wondered at the assortment of painkillers, aspirin, ointments, and antibiotics. The compressed ration packs and water-purification tablets looked like manna from heaven.

"My uncle will help," she promised in the brief exchange, the only one allowed.

This was a code phrase which meant I shouldn't try anything heroic, that she'd bring help soon. I knew it could be a long, arduous, and dangerous trip for her alone back to find a safe house, possibly try for that safe house, once lost in the fog, and from there to bring help. But I had hope.

I had to have hope, because I wanted to get back to Heero and find out what the hell he wanted to say. The look in his eyes had been, well, full, deep, and my imagination had been going overtime filling in the rest. I couldn't help myself! Geez, I was a gay man stuck _in hell_ - in a prison filled with men all day and night. My dream world occupied by Heero Yuy and _moi_ was the only place in town where I could be me. I couldn't conceive of him not being into me, eventually. If I had, I would have given up waiting and just died trying to escape the place in a wild firefight. That was a real temptation, believe you me.

I was a realist, though. I didn't go overboard on the positive or the negative thinking. My getting out was going take time. Word was that the new regime policed by OZ was issuing drastic curfews and travel restrictions that even limited movement between neighboring districts. The simple act of going from one province to another would now require permits from several offices. If Hilde was unable to locate that safe house, again, then she'd have to continue back the way we'd come, and if she was going to do it within my limited lifetime, she'd have to take the main road and find transportation. I imagined her irritation building at having to first bribe herself through a labyrinth of bureaucracy before queuing for hours to buy a ticket on an overcrowded bus.

At least she had activity to occupy her brain! I had nothing.

(o)

They showed me pictures of two men, who they identified as Dekim Barton and his son Trowa. I didn't resemble either man. My name was not Trowa Barton. I was Trenton Breem, but it seemed as foreign to me as their faces, more so even.

I tried to reason that one out and couldn't. I was Trenton Breem. Okay, so one name was as good as another.

Today, I was informed that I'm nearly ready. Preparations were underway for my final test. I look forward to the opportunity to rid this world of our enemies. I count the days until my orders arrive.

-Trowa/ Commander Trenton Breem, OZ

Chapter 6

Nearly two agonizing weeks had passed before a message came from "38" at a safe house nowhere near the one lost in Drain, but one many miles closer to where the pair had begun their mission. It was encoded with the highest level of emergency. Heero had intercepted the message and ran to notify Wufei, who was sleeping on a cot in the office nearby.

He in turn took the information directly to Commander Une and within an hour, he was on a transport, leading a small force to pick her up. This was in an area which hadn't seen enemy action for many months and a transport ship could land and get out quickly.

"We should have gone in like this weeks ago and blasted our way into all the possible camps to look for Trowa and not had to go through all this now," Heero growled.

"I know." Quatre was worried that Hilde's message didn't include the "02" code, and knew that most of Heero's anger was covering for the same worry. All he could do was commiserate now, or was it? "Heero, I'm worried that we will get back only Hilde. But I'm hoping she will bring us news about Duo and Trowa. Let's say she knows where Duo is—"

"She'd better!"

"And maybe he's with Trowa and for some reason she couldn't extract them both. That means she'll need help. We need to develop plans of our own so we can act immediately after we learn something."

"Yes." Heero's eye glowed with secret joy. "Execute an operation independent of Preventers. They are too cautious."

Quatre agreed with a nod. "I want to contact the Maguanac Corps. They work autonomously without the limits of political policies and crippling rules." Quatre punched his open palm to expend some exasperation. "I'm totally annoyed with Une's actions. We've given her time and she has failed to convince me she values … prioritizes her agent's needs high enough."

"I want action too." Heero stared at the map then poked at it. "Here's where they are picking up Hilde. We know they reached this far, so she travelled backwards. There's a public bus route along the road, but that doesn't help us know where she came from." He raked his hair in frustration. "I hate waiting."

"I don't like it either, and since I don't know how long it will take Rashid to prepare or even what I should tell them to plan for, I'll give them what we know- those coordinates to start with- and fine tune them once we get her story."

Heero smiled fiercely. "It's a start in the right direction."

Late the next night, Wufei called in to report to Heero what he'd learned. It would be another day until he would be back at the Preventer's building, but he wanted him to know everything Hilde had learned.

"Duo is still in the prison." He paused, letting the fact sink in that she was free while Duo was still incarcerated.

"Women are often freed and he's _alive_, which implies," Heero reckoned, "they hadn't identified either agent as enemy combatants." That was good.

"That's correct," Wufei said. "Duo was okay when last she'd seen him," Wufei went on. "She told the prison authorities that she had a rich uncle willing to pay for her husband's release."

"Bribe? That's why she was released," Heero said.

"It seems likely to me as well. She was allowed to meet with him twice and brought him a few medications and rations. Heero, he has a better chance to survive this than most of the other men there."

"Thank Hilde for me," Heero said gratefully, a little of Quatre's politeness rubbing off.

"I did." Wufei was quiet.

Heero ran over the facts again in his mind before remembering to ask, "How is she?"

"Unharmed. Angry that they were unprepared. She's reporting that the Resistance and OZ are both drawing lines in the sand, cutting off parts of the country. It's worse than Preventers knows, or at least, what we agents know."

"That's wrong in so many ways," Heero said. "I don't trust anyone but ourselves."

"I was hoping you could think of something. Howard might come through, I don't know. They do seem bribable."

"As long as they believe he's a nobody," Heero said, "they will accept a bribe, possibly, but if they suspect he's valuable, who knows?"

He looked to Quatre who just walked in. "Quatre's here." He briefed his friend. "It's Wufei. Hilde is okay. Duo is in an unchartered prison."

Quatre compressed his lips, as Heero turned back to the vid-call, "Any other news?"

"No sign of Trowa," Wufei said next. "Duo passed that information on to her the last time they spoke."

Heero shook his head in answer to Quatre's unvoiced entreaty.

If Quatre was disappointed, he didn't show it, painting on an expression of grim determination instead. "Just tell him that we are mustering the Maguanac Corps."

"Heard that!" Wufei shouted over background noise of a ship's engine. "Wait for me. I'm in."

"Can I speak to Hilde?" Heero asked.

"She's sleeping now. It was hard on her." Wufei's voice had gone hoarse for a second, but was back to normal when he added. "I'm sending the coordinates of the prison. One we hadn't known about."

"Of course we didn't." Heero didn't mask the nastiness in his tone. He ended the call pissed and blaming Commander Une and the agents responsible for gathering intelligence. "Damn! We have to do everything ourselves!"

But then he felt strong arms draw him into an embrace. A firm chest pressed to his, arms wrapped around his neck, soft hair brushed his cheek. He was aware that Quatre's personal scent and his shampoo combined to create a pleasant blend and that his body gave off a generous supply of warmth. Overall, it was a comforting gesture, which he returned in his own way.

I'll have to do this for Duo when I next see him, he thought.

(o)

Without Hilde's supplies, I would have died.

Many other inmates were in worse condition. At the peak of incarceration, OZ kept more than a thousand men in the prison, packing people into all four building until there was no space left to walk. We were kept like diseased beasts waiting for slaughter, unworthy of the least measure of compassion. We lay on bare concrete. The reek from the clogged toilet was unbearable. Lice were everywhere and with having to hide my hair, my braid, at all times, the itching became intolerable. I chewed my nails to the nub to keep from clawing my skin to shreds. In here, a simple infection could lead to gangrene or an agonizing death, and I didn't want to unnecessarily use up the supplies Hilde brought me.

Once, they let us outside for ten minutes to bathe and wash our clothes at the large cement cistern in the middle of the prison yard. It was such a relief to cleanse the grime from my skin that I sometimes forgot what a pitiful sight we were—dozens of pale, withered men in their boxer shorts frantically soaping themselves and scooping water with their hands under the scrutiny of armed guards.

I longed to unbraid my hair and scour to my heart's content, but I couldn't reveal that most telltale identifier. Heero had warned me. Wufei had lectured me on numerous occasions that my hair would be my undoing. I wore it coiled and pinned with sticks. As I scrubbed at my scalp, I freed more of the shorter hairs, which flopped over the coil and covered it more with time. Before dressing, I applied ointment on my sores and bites, and then rinsed the sweat from one garment, no more lest I give myself a chill before the cloth dried.

Prison was the cruelest of man's inventions. Within the walls, the days stood still. We played games and made up trivia quizzes. We invented dozens of little devices to ease our suffering—the best of which was a candle stove made from an empty tin of baby food powder.

Mostly, we filled the empty hours with words. We talked, knowing well that there were moles among us. We could not help ourselves. We talked because infinity didn't span centuries, it lay within each second.

I shared my dreams for the future, the fine food I would eat with my family and friends, the vacations we might take, and the cottage I'd like to build by the sea. I didn't say how it would be inhabited by someone other than my wife. I kept a part of my dreams concealed carefully. It wasn't so hard; I hadn't even told Heero how I felt about him. In my mind, I had sealed off my past. I never talked about my childhood. I did not give a single hint of military knowledge. So I became the ardent listener, casting myself as a silent character in the lives of the other inmates and losing myself in their past dramas. This trick I learned from a very good friend of mine, Trowa Barton. God, I hoped he'd fared better than me, but I didn't let my thoughts drift down that dark road.

Reality returned every evening after dinner. The loudspeakers came on and called out the names of those who would face judgment. A stage had been rigged right outside the prison for the public trials and denouncements of traitors—a ghoulish entertainment.

When it was over, someone would strike the first match. The tiny flare of the flame brought us out from the darkness. We stirred as if the light were a confirmation of our existence. Each man fussed over his own baby food can, makeshift stove to boil some water for coffee or tea. It helped to be busy. It helped to have some caffeine and sugar in the blood to brace the spirit.

In the flickering candlelight of hundreds of baby food stoves, the names of those who had just vanished from our midst were never spoken.

One by one, my cellmates were called away by the loudspeakers, each leaving behind a few items of clothing, candles, and a baby food stove. These bits and pieces were all that was left of them. Those of us who remained dared not use their belongings for fear of inheriting the same bad luck. Next to the toilet, a pile of goods collected like bones.

I remembered how, in my impassioned youth, my heart had swelled with pride at the sight of my Deathscythe standing at the ready; the feel of the other brave pilots fighting at my side, covering my back, driving away the "bad guys" in an attempt to free our colonies from the oppressor. I'd met Hilde at a gathering of OZ cadets. I could easily have been convinced to join them, be a part of that resistance, fight their interpretation of injustice, strike back at their enemies. I might have been on the other side of this.

Do the ends truly justify the means?

And if so, to what ends had we arrived?

OZ was winning this new war, and they were barbaric! This was ridiculously vindictive. This was just so damned senseless. Déjà vu…

What was it that Wufei had once said? Insanity is doing the same thing in the same way and expecting a different outcome.

I'd thought that was funny at the time I first heard it, but now I knew it wasn't true either. That was more an act of stupidity or futility than insanity.

Peace only comes when reason rules. Now that had some meat on it. Wufei'd said that too. Some ancient Chinese saying.

My time eventually came.

Dawn brought smoky clouds. A drizzle haunted the long afternoon, fading at twilight. The loudspeakers screeched to life and began calling out names. Eric Martin. I heard it as clearly as I had heard it in my nightmares and yet it didn't register as my name for a few seconds. Hilde had gotten us the papers and chosen the name for me. At least she'd made it simple for me to say, seeing as my French sucked royally.

I dressed in the same clothes I'd worn in, cinching up the waist with a belt I'd made from a torn t-shirt. I'd lost weight. Everything else I left behind. My toothbrush, ragged clothes, food, even my precious baby food stove. I was barefoot because they'd torn up my boots after a metal detector discovered the blades sewn into the linings.

I had thought I would be terrified and do something dishonorable…or cry. But when they came for me, I wasn't afraid. I'd moved beyond fear. Transcended it. There was only an overwhelming sadness that I would never see Heero again and that he'd never know how he inhabited my last thoughts on earth.

A numbing emptiness calmed my limbs. No shaking. I didn't think of whether or not the execution bullet would be painful or whether death, in its ultimate mercy, would come quickly. I did not think about my other friends or where my soul would go.

The sky was dark, starless, the air scented with deep heavy earth from the earlier rain. I felt a piercing love for my dearest one. It didn't occur to me to say a prayer.

(o)

I rarely dreamed. I had nightmares for years after the war. Everyone did. But pleasant re-enactments of past events or wish fulfillments I never had. So, at first I didn't recognize this one. I was sleeping and it was dark. complete darkness and I was coiled like a snail on my cot. My eyes screwed shut and feelings, thoughts damped against the pain of my current reality. I might have taken that position to protect something inside.

A dot of light appeared in the darkness. I thought of a past time when I'd been floating in the void of space and seen a dot light that. Later on I'd been told it was a Sweeper ship that had detected the wreckage and found me and returned me to the circus. Duo had told me that.

The rush of joy jolted me. A memory had returned! A name! Was that point of light a ship? Duo?

No. A cramp of pain darkened the images. No. I wasn't in space. No.

_Trowa._

I imagined I heard a voice calling. That might have been the end of my dream, except that through my eyelids I could sense more light and I had to look, despite the pain-penalty I knew I could count on afterwards.

The light had grown brighter and larger giving the impression of having moved closer. And then I heard it again, a name, the same name.

_Trowa._

I couldn't take my eyes off the light. There was no heat, only light and it grew until out of the center came a figure. I recognized the man and tried to put a name to him. Not Duo.

_Trowa._

_Trowa, Trowa, Trowa._

I wanted to return a name of my own. A word. Anything, but a terrible pain twisted in my gut and I folded again into myself and the dark. Interminable time passed and so did the worst of the pain.

_Trowa._

The light was still there. The man. I felt a serenity surround me like sinking into honey happiness.

_Trowa…answer!_

"Quatre!" I must have shouted out, probably repeatedly. I awoke sitting up, my throat raw, my face wet. I'd cried. I never cried any more. I never cried because I never felt.

I didn't need the punishing pain to remind me I still harbored a shred of feelings. My humanity still lurked inside. Somewhere deep. Protected from the dark, but touched by light.

- Commander Trenton Breem


	4. Chapters 7 and 8

Chapter 7

"He's alive!" Quatre cried out. "Trowa! I found him. I know where he is!"

He ran to the desk and flattened the detail map, while Heero and Wufei rushed into the room.

"Your hair is…black," Wufei commented.

"Yes, so I can pretend to be Duo's wife. Don't you think I can pass for Hilde?" Quatre batted his eyelashes in a fetching manner.

Heero let out a doubtful snort, as Wufei looked the other man over. "The figure is all wrong, but with the right clothes, possibly, if you hadn't seen Hilde before."

"Well, naturally I'll try to cover up my body—"

"We must extract Duo," Heero said, interrupting. "If Trowa's held out this long, he'll hold out until we can develop a plan to get him."

"Oh, I know!" Quatre searched Heero's face. "I understand. I'm not abandoning Duo. It's just that… I'm not abandoning Trowa, either."

"Is that your cell?" Wufei asked. He pointed to the vibrating cell phone about to lurch off the table top.

"Yes!" Quatre cried out as he dove for it. "Hello?" He listened while the other two agents watched him. "I understand. We'll send you our ETA."

"That was Rashid, who is the leader of the Maguanacs, as you know. He is coordinating with the Resistance for landing rights and assistance to get roads available and to hold a bridge for the extraction. I have our drop off point."

Wufei was on his feet. "The transport that brought in Hilde will take us back out. It should be refueled and ready. Are we?"

Heero grabbed his gun. "Yes."

Commander Une had cleared them for limited reconnaissance of the area, not willing to risk the men, materials, or valuable armored vehicles. Sending out two agents to gather information on a third missing one was one thing, a limited expenditure, but a whole battalion, which is what Preventers had estimated it would take, was too much. Une wanted to "wait and see" and give Trowa and Duo more time to affect their own escapes. She had "other fish to fry", countless places screaming for her limited resources.

Naturally, none of them had cleared the true nature of their extraction plans. This was for friendship and more, not a part of the job. She would be unhappy. So unhappy with them that they imagined reprisals, but even facing the possible punishment of a dismissal didn't sway them from their objective. They also imagined that she expected them to do this so she wouldn't have to. Whatever.

The last-minute personal gear, additional munitions, and perishable food were all loaded with the men, and then the flight took off. Quatre informed Rashid of their departure, and, in turn, received a recommended safe approach and guarded landing strip.

After a tense but uneventful flight and landing, Wufei, Heero, and Quatre were met by the tall, swarthy leader of the Maguanac Corps, Rashid.

"We will be traveling in one vehicle, while my other men will be dispersed in groups, securing our retreat, the roads, and there will be another transport coming behind us by half a day to provide backup," Rashid told them as he led them to the armored van. "Let me introduce you to our driver, Amir. Jamid! Load those bags and the crate for the gentlemen here, please!"

Rashid and Amir took the front seats of the ground cargo van, while the other three young men climbed into the back. They were grateful to discover their comfort had not been forgotten. Padding cushioned off one section of the van from the cargo.

The engine started and they felt the wheels rock over the bomb-damaged tarmac and roll onto the slightly better road. Behind them they could hear the rumble of the backup transport following closely.

Rashid talked to them from an internal intercom. "In a few hours, we'll come upon a river crossing. There we will leave the other troops behind and the backup vehicle will cross later."

It was then that Rashid explained that after Duo's successful extraction from the camp, the Maguanacs would move in _en force_ and free the other captives. Apparently the Resistance was paying them to remove the threat from their territory.

"I didn't know they acted as mercenaries," Wufei said to Quatre. "I thought they reported to you."

"No," Quatre said, "they have been independent since the death of my father, but Rashid will do most anything for me, and, of course, I pay them for their service to my company or to family-related requests on L4. I have many sisters and it seems there is one requiring secure passage someplace," he explained.

Well, a man had to earn a living. "That's understandable…justified," Wufei said.

"I don't know how to repay you," Heero murmured.

Quatre bumped shoulders. "Save them."

There was nothing to see, no windows to look out of, no light except from their flashlights, so, after a short while they dozed off, making up for sleepless nights to come.

A gruff voice woke them. "I'm sorry to awaken you but I wanted to inform you of a concern."

"That's okay. What is it, Rashid?" Quatre asked.

"We crossed the river some hours ago and are within a couple hours of the prison. I am very troubled because I have not received confirmation calls from the backup vehicle."

"What could be holding them up, do you think?"

"Fighting. Nothing good. Do you wish to continue?" Rashid asked.

Heero nodded, "Yes."

'Yes, if we have to escape on foot, we still go in, we still make the attempt," Quatre assured him.

"Very well. I was certain you would say that. Amid was not. I win the bet!" Rashid laughed and the call was cut.

There was no returning to sleep after that. The three friends sat in strained silence, Wufei muscles taut, eyed closed; Heero rigid staring into the void; Quatre jittery, twisting the loose button on his sleeve; all waiting as the van bounced and jolted them closer to the town.

"Coming to a road block. Prepare for an inspection and remain silent," Rashid warned them.

When they stopped, they were nearly blinded by the light slipping through the cracks as the back doors of the van were opened. Cartons of baby formula stacked at the back gave a false impression of what the van actually carried. But would it work? Would the van be ordered unloaded completely and examined? The doors slammed shut and the van rocked along again.

"We just passed inspection," Rashid explained.

All three men let out their held breaths and relaxed minutely.

"We are in the town and will park in an alley near the back of the prison. At that time, Master Quatre and I will attempt entry to the prison through the front entrance."

Wufei and Heero re-checked their guns and wished the pair good luck. With the loose layers of clothes over his slight body, the scarf and dyed hair, Quatre wasn't a half-bad copy of Hilde- considering. "She" as Duo's wife and Rashid as the rich uncle entered prison encampment with the offer to pay for Duo's freedom, while Wufei, Heero, and Amir waited in the van.

Waiting was hell.

(o)

"Eric Martin."

I jumped, startled out of my calm.

"This way. Come to the door!" the guard shouted, indicating that I was to be led into an officer's room rather than out of the compound.

"Go in, go in." The guard, a young fanatic with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder, gestured for me to hurry. "Don't keep the important man waiting."

He slipped inside to stand beside the desk of the prison yard supervisor.

Out of the shadows stepped an older man with thick black hair and moustache, and the armbands denoting The Resistance. The badges of office proved rank. I recognized Rashid of the Maguanac Corps when he smiled and revealed his one gold tooth. After the end of the big war and the ESCUN Accord, he and the other Maguanacs regrouped to…I knew not where. Quatre never said. Well, this lovely reunion was a godsend to me.

"I am your wife's Uncle Hamid."

I didn't know what was going on, but I went along with the charade.

"Oh, ah, hi, unc." I was slow thinking.

He reached out to shake hands and wound his fingers around my wrist.

"You should try to eat more vegetables," he said.

"Vegetables?" I was confused. Prisoners did not get enough of any kind of food.

"You are malnourished with vitamin deficiency."

I thanked him for the diagnosis. If this was coded information, I didn't get it. I was out of that loop, I guessed. "How is… my wife? Is she well?" _Are you alone?_

"Doing well, yes."

"Did she come with you?" _Was there backup?_

"She's at the inn. Spouses are not allowed visitation. You know that."

"Oh, yeah, sure. I forgot."

I realized he was telling me to be cautious. Even though he was probably one of the highest-ranking party members of The Resistance the local OZ people had met, Rashid, um, Uncle Hamid, was careful not to show any impropriety and had not requested to meet me, Martin, privately without the OZ supervisor. These walls had ears. Perhaps he was afraid that I was foolish enough to blurt out something dangerous.

"Your wife asked me to explain to the local authority that you are a good citizen, a scrap man, and that you fled the capital because you were afraid. You were coming to stay with us on the coast. You had no intention of leaving the country or spying on their activities."

He was saying that I must stick to my original confession, harp along that line in my interrogation, and never deviate. I nodded and said, "Thank you, Uncle. Please tell my wife that the comrades here are treating me well and teaching me the importance of their political ways. I am grateful for the opportunity to learn."

There. I must have proved I was a well-trained agent at least.

Uncle Hamid smiled and nodded his approval, and then wished me good luck and good health. Without another word, he moved past me and left the room. I was touched because I knew he was a good man of integrity and ethics. I wondered what made him decide to help me. Had Hilde really contacted base? Was Quatre involved, which meant Wufei and, God could only hope, Heero would be, too?

I was returned to my room. And the next day my first interrogation began.

(o)

I was in a terrible mood. I'd received my orders and now had to travel to a prisoner camp to conduct an interrogation. Accompanying me were two subordinates, the car's driver and a hateful little snake in the grass operative seated behind me, called Preen. I detested the man who was at my elbow at all times, supposedly to aid me, although I was certain that his true function was to execute me if I didn't do as I was told. On the ride, he'd been particularly annoying. Teasing, irritating me with non-stop chatter until it got under my skin and pushed me past my limits.

I leaned over the back of the seat and slapped the annoying underling in the face. Then did it again, harder. The driver laughed. The passenger stretched sideways until he could see himself in the rearview mirror and muttered a string of oaths under his breath.

"Remember," he told me as if I'd passed some test. "Prisoners do not feel pain where they've been slapped; they feel it in their wrists, where they've tried to break the cord."

So it had been just another test after all. I was constantly being tested. I wanted that to stop. I wanted to end the nightmare I'd become lost in.

Later on, when we exited the car he managed to twist around and free the ties I hadn't put on but maybe the driver had. I looked and saw that he was bleeding.

Striking him had been satisfying. It helped wipe out my misgivings. The name of the prisoner had been disturbingly familiar. A memory from a dream. Displaced and one I felt I should know. Duo Maxwell.

- Commander Trenton Breem

Chapter 8

Less than an hour later, they heard the pounding of footsteps running toward the van. It was Quatre. Alone.

"It's Rashid!" Quatre announced. "He'll be on his way back to us. He's seen Duo. They wouldn't let me in, so I waited outside."

"How is Duo!" Heero demanded.

"He's thin, but healthy and alert still. Apparently, a payment has been worked out, but first Duo must see some man in charge. And we have been told to just wait."

"Do we know who this man is?" Wufei asked.

"An OZ officer…Breem, it's rumored."

Wufei shook his head. "More unknowns. More secrets."

"What do you mean by _more_?" Heero asked through gritted teeth.

"Une." Wufei spat out her name like it tasted foul. "She keeps her agents in the dark."

"You can confirm Une is keeping vital information from the agents that are in the field?" Quatre asked.

Wufei dipped his chin. "Yes. When I recovered Hilde, I spoke to one agent with firsthand information about previous missions he'd been on with Trowa. What he told me was disturbing. So much so that I sent out a brief, confidential message to all the other field agents. It's only been a matter of hours… I didn't know when to tell you, but in case something happens to me, you should know this."

"Tell me!" Quatre begged.

"I will. Prior to his assignment with Hilde, Trowa had been acting undercover missions for some time, _as an OZ agent_."

"Oh, no! That was something Une promised me, and him, would never, ever happen!" Quatre cried out.

Not with his past experiences and PTSD. Quatre hands fisted. "I am very, very angry, indeed."

"Hilde wasn't informed of that before her mission with Trowa," Wufei added. "And I didn't know, obviously."

"Nor I," Heero said. "And Duo never mentioned it. I'm sure he would have had he known. It would have altered the mission he and Hilde took."

"Yes, it would have," Wufei said. "And for your information, Hilde has carried out her last mission for Preventers. She's handing in her notice after this." He waved his hand, meaning when this mission was complete.

They all hoped that Trowa and Duo would live to execute that privilege, as well.

Quatre sat, eyes closed, trance-like with his lips moving, repeating, "Live, live, live."

The others left him to his own ways of dealing with what was going on. Coping skills were never questioned in the field.

In the meantime, Rashid re-joined the annoyed men back at the van. He was to wait for a call from the guards at the compound, which could be any day, any time. They ate without tasting, took short walks, kept out of sight, and waited the wait of the damned.

(o)

The next day, Rashid did not hear from the prison guards all morning. In the late afternoon, an official-looking vehicle pulled up to the gates and was ushered inside.

"I have a bad feeling when I look at that vehicle," Wufei said.

Quatre, however, sat up in his seat. "Trowa! He's here!"

"Could he have been brought to this prison?" Heero wondered.

"Just now!" Quatre cried out. "He's here!"

Heero studied the official-looking car. "Looks like it's time for plan B."

Wufei and Heero layered on Kevlar vests, flak jackets, helmets, munitions, and armaments before leaving Amid to guard the van. They sneaked around to the back side of the prison from which Rashid had exited the day before.

Quatre and Rashid wore protective body armor beneath their uncle and wife clothing, but took no metal that might get them stopped by the detectors at the doors. Rashid was partial to ceramic knives and had hidden pockets built into the seams to contain a couple. They would once again attempt a frontal entry, demanding to see Duo _at once_.

There was no plan "C".

(o)

During one interrogation, I collapsed with a high fever. The inspector splashed water on my face, but couldn't revive me. Two prisoners carried me back to my quarters. Fellow cellmates nursed me with aspirin and penicillin from my stash of medicine. I lay on the cold concrete ground, wrapped in four layers of borrowed clothes, sweating, freezing, and delirious. The body was ready, the spirit nearly there. Fellow inmates had fallen all around me, worthier men had perished, and I was learning to let go of my fears.

I thought of something Wufei had once told me, when we had both been incarcerated on the moon base by these same bastards. I'd asked him how he could be so calm in the face of death, and he'd called it the Buddhist's third truth of existence: Death is a natural condition. There is no way to escape death.

We both did that day and on other occasions thereafter with so many close calls I'd lost count. I'd been the self-anointed God of Death, but I was always aware that I wasn't immune from death.

In the long descent, I arrived finally at a place where what I had lost did not matter as much as what I had had, however briefly, in life. Here, I was free of bitterness and sorrow. Things, the essence of them, came to me, caressed me, entered and passed through me like familiar spirits.

Riding the border of sleep and wakefulness, I dreamt of the green fields of March, the yellow wind of summer harvests, the eternal gray of November rain, the pale blush of Sanc winters, but through it all kept surfacing the deep blue of Heero's eyes, but the voice of an angel chanting a positive affirmation for me to _Live! _

(o)

My uniform was new and stiff. I felt uncomfortable and irritable. If I was a commander, as labeled, it was all in masquerade because I was the one being led around like a trained monkey, or like a puppet. Yes, I was a puppet, but who was pulling my strings?

I was directed to an office, a room with a desk and chair and not much else. I was told I would conduct an interrogation, kill the enemy, and collect proof that I had done so.

A man I'd never seen before brought in weapons. Two different guns, an old model German Korth handgun, a greasy Glock that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in ever. A sword slid across the desk. Well, this spoke to me. Treize Khushrenada and Wufei Chang fought with these, so did Zechs Merquise and Heero Yuy, and even Dorothy Catalonia and Quatre Winner. The names popped into my mind automatically without faces, just names. Except for the last one, Quatre. The name glided over my tongue as if I said it a thousand times.

I guessed that the names came from my murky past. I didn't want to lose it, so I grabbed the sword.

"Where's the prisoner?"

"With the others."

I liked the feel of the sword, the weight and how it strained my arms to hold it. I practiced a couple swings.

"Bring him to me."

"Yes, sir."

I don't think I was ever a swordsman. It felt foreign in my hands. I lifted it and let it fall, cutting a wedge out of the wooden desktop. Not impressive. In order to cut through a limb or a neck, I would have to apply force. I practiced chopping legs off the chair until an unhealthy man was pushed into the room by a guard and the commander of the prison.

- Commander Trenton Breem

(o)

"Commander Breem!" shouted the guard to get his attention. He certainly wasn't trying to introduce him to me. I was barely on anyone's radar at this point in my life.

So, this was the man I'd been waiting for?

Breem was a young man dressed in the starched khaki slacks and matching jacket of the OZ officers. I could tell by the deference the guard showed to the uniformed man that he was of higher rank. The man was well-built, slender with wide shoulders. He had calm green eyes, but his mouth was pressed into a hard, thin line. He said nothing.

Oh, it was Trowa all right, a buttoned-down kind of guy.

I dropped my eyes, as in deference, but really to hide any signs of recognition and excitement. He was alive, at least. I couldn't tell what his game was. I was surrounded by the enemy, so I pretended not to know him. I mean, he didn't act like he was a friend. He started asking me questions. The usual sort. I answered in the usual way.

"Eric Martin… I buy and sell scrap metal… I was on my way to the coast with my wife to live with her uncle…"

And then I added, unasked for, "He was here yesterday, I think it was. He brought money to get me out—"

Breem/Trowa slapped my face to shut me up. He wasn't interested in unsolicited information, I guessed. He'd also pushed a pill past my teeth. I fumbled around with it to spit it out. Then he punched me and when I gasped, he forced a finger down my throat—and the pill. God, was I to be poisoned?

"Is he one of the terrorists?" the guard asked him.

"Yes," Breem said.

Ah, shit. Well, now I knew Trowa wasn't on our side. He'd condemned me for sure.

I felt woozy. He drugged me, that stinking, pill-pusher! My will to fight took a vacation just when I needed it overtime!

Hard hands pushed me down so I was half lying across the desk. I could see the glint of metal in the air. The sword! That's when I just about gave up hope for making it out alive. My weakened state minimized the fight left in me. I mean, if Trowa was going to kill me, there wasn't much I could do to stop him alone. I wiggled and squirmed and cussed him out—I had that much pride. But I didn't hold out much hope of successfully convincing him to rethink his actions and let me go.

Until I heard the shouting coming from outside the door! Rashid, for sure, and another voice, Quatre? My heart sank. I didn't want him to see Trowa like this. My life ruined was one thing, but Quat's too? That was unnecessary.

"We offered payment and you accepted. Where is he?!"

"Turn him over!"

Wood splintered from the door breaking inwards, and I heard feet pounding on the floorboards.

I was shaking from infirmity, excitement, and pure terror. I struggled to the best of my limited ability to roll off the desk. On the floor there was the possibility of tripping Trowa and it would be harder for him to swing that sword.

Why a sword, I wondered?

The mind does strange things under stress. Mine was focusing on Trowa wielding a sword as being out of character—forget the fact that he was about to chop my head off!

The weight of a body pressed onto my back. I felt a tug as my braid was moved aside to expose my neck. God. This was it!

I also felt as much as heard the word "_love_". A balm of warmth comforted me, relief lifted my spirits, and I laughed, I think.

A low voice very close to my ear said, "Don't move."

I was so shocked by the intensity of feelings surrounding me as well as the honeyed "_love_" and soft command that I obeyed and didn't move.

Whack! The blade cut the air past my ear.

Thunk!

(o)

When next I became aware of my surroundings, my first thought was disappointment. If this was Heaven, then was why I so sore still? Slowly, I regained enough awareness to recognize what I was feeling arms around me and my head was cushioned by a firmly muscled leg.

My eyes seemed glued shut, so I just listened. Voices, familiar ones. "Get him back to camp." "Burning up!" "Are you sure that's Duo?"

Was I? Eric? Duo? The God of Death?

"What's that in his hands? A dead rat? Get it outta here!"

I moved my fingers and there was nothing there so they couldn't have meant me. Who then?

"Stop! That's hair!"

"It's Duo's braid!"

"I k-killed him…" a grief-stricken voice wrenched out, followed by sobbing.

"No, no, Trowa. You didn't. He's right here. We're all here."

"What's all this? Money?" came another voice.

"That's the money Rashid brought. The bribe money to get Duo out."

I heard more sobs and then, "I did!" a hoarse voice insisted. "I cut off … his head… with a sword."

Ah, I remembered that. So, it was Trowa in the van alongside me and Quatre, whose reassuring voice I heard.

"Not his head, just his hair and not all of that, just the lower half or so. You didn't hurt him."

"He fell I saw his body fall… and I held his head."

I must have fainted. How embarrassing!

"Only his braid! Look! Feel it! See? It's just a hank of hair, Trowa!"

I heard deep, painful crying and all the while a hand raked through my knotted, insect-ridden, dirty hair, massaging my scalp, relaxing me. I was in love with that hand.

The next voice I heard was muffled and turned away so I couldn't make out who it was. The accent was familiar. "Only Amid was injured and then that was just a graze. We are lucky."

From the jerks and bumping around, I figured we were riding in a vehicle over the rough road. I heard the slosh and splash when wheels slid into puddles. The hand continued to caress, and I could no longer stay awake.

Squeaking brakes woke me up. It was all dark to me, but if I listened carefully I could hear rushing water, a roar, which meant we'd come to a halt at a river crossing. I heard sighs of exhaustion, doors opening and closing letting in the rush of cold, damp air, which felt refreshing. I heard voices discussing the condition of the bridge.

"Why not go over the bridge?"

"Burned out-."

"Duo can't swim!" I heard Heero say. Heero. It was distinctly Heero's voice I heard. "He can't swim even if he was not injured."

Oh, yes. The problem was what to do with me.

"Why was it always the cunning one that can't swim?" another voice asked, but not in anger.

I knew that accent. Wufei! Wufei was here, too? Wow, freeing me had somehow warranted the expense of everyone coming after me. I was so worth something then. I set a goal of getting my eyes to open. I had to have been drugged to have been so worthless. That pill. Had that been to drug me?

"And there aren't any logs. Maybe we can break off a piece of the burnt railing?"

I struggled to open my eyes. I had to get a look at him, him being Heero.

Heero unbuckled his belt and looped it around me. "Give me yours, Wufei."

Heh! I'd been right about the voices. And then Heero and I were linked together, bound by belts.

"Quatre, do the same for Trowa. He doesn't look so good."

I could hear Rashid's voice and a shout. "I can carry Amid! I go last!" I imagined at least one man had been injured freeing me—and Trowa. Setting a rear guard meant we were still in enemy territory. Wouldn't Rashid have brought all his corps? Where were the other Maguanacs?

Quatre, Trowa, Wufei, and Heero had all come for me. Man, I felt special. And then I felt sick as one of my arms was stretched and pulled over Heero's shoulder and another draped over Wufei's. I might have carried some of my own weight, or not, but we moved. I felt the damp, chill air rising from heavy current.

Crawling over the weathered planks smelled like old fire. And it hurt. We hadn't gone far at all when we stopped.

Wufei let out an exasperated sound, then said, "Looks like we'll be going into the water a little earlier than I'd planned. The support poles have burned, part way."

That didn't sound good, but, we moved onward, the bridge trembling and swaying each time someone moved.

"Stop!" Wufei signaled back to Heero and Quatre to stay where we were. "I'm going ahead on my own."

I opened my eyes and watched his progress. Flat on his belly, Wufei worked his way across the bridge. I could hear the water as it rushed past, ten feet below, could feel it—the damp, chill air that rose from heavy current. He did not look back.

"We'll move slowly," Heero said to me, I think, and dragged me onto his back before he began crawling over the weathered planks.

Heero reached a bad place, hung on; I felt him start to sweat in the cold air.

"Wufei? Would it be better to dive in here?"

"No!" came the quick reply. "It's a long way to the other shore."

We waited for the bridge to stop wobbling, and then Heero curled his fingers around the edge of the next board and slid forward. Waited, reached out, pulled, and slid.

"I've reached the end—or as close as I can risk getting. Any further and it won't support a cat, a c-a-t."

As opposed to a "Quat". I smiled inside to find out now that Wufei had a sense of humor.

"Catch your breath and wait up for Quatre and Trowa," Heero said.

"I'm going into the water, you follow. You hold on to Duo, I'll swim across and pull you with me. You do the best you can—kick your feet, paddle with your free arm. We'll manage."

"All right."

"If that works," Wufei continued, "I'll go back and help Quatre with Trowa."

I looked down at the water, ten feet below us, dark and swirling. The far shore seemed a long distance away, but at least the bank was low. I really didn't want to go into the water. It served no purpose arguing with him, though. I was helpless and worthless. No one had a better suggestion either, so it was agreed.

"We'll be fine," Heero told me.

He pulled us along; I felt the planks beneath us quiver, then shift.

Wufei swore and I heard a beam snap. I looked ahead in time to see Wufei turned on his side and drop. He fought the air, then nothing. No loud splash of the water like I'd expected.

"Wufei!" Quatre cried out behind us. He must have seen heard the wood give.

Heero had pulled us to the brink. I looked over and found Wufei on his hands and knees, poised, the river churning around him. He'd landed with a shock that knocked him senseless on a rock. A rock! Smooth and dark, about two feet below the surface.

"I'm…okay."

And then Wufei laughed and gained his feet, laughing. "It's a steppingstone! I can see more, a walkway just under the surface."

A hidden causeway. {A/N: my thanks goes to Alan Furst for this idea}

Heero must have carried me across. I passed out being lowered to the water from the bridge. I felt a gentle rocking motion and fell into another doze.

When I next was aware that I was alive, I had a headache. I didn't remember drinking, but it felt a lot like a hangover headache, but tiredness was probably part of it- I had loads of vivid dreams last night, the most distressing of which was me crying hysterically because I'd let down my executioner by asking not to be shot. Yeah. So maybe this was also partly a stress headache.

We were in another vehicle, my head on Heero's lap. It wasn't rocking but it was moving, so we were on a good road. The murmur of voices around me were nothing like the prison and the cushion under my head was warm.

My next awakening brought me to alertness. The smell of antibacterial soaps and antiseptics of a medical facility. Not a hospital. My eyes opened to lights, but not bright ones. I saw Heero immediately. He was standing near, directing staff. Protecting me.

This was my rebirth. I turned my head and saw the reflection of a stranger in a metal surface. The assistant warden had asked me in the last interview if I had learned my lesson, if I had changed my behavior, if I had decided to become an honest person, if I had repented.

I couldn't remember my answer, I'd been so sick. I couldn't remember what my crime had been, I knew that much.

Weeks of psychological torture, brainwashing, brutal imprisonment, starvation, physical abuse, and hard labor digging graves for our dead had not changed my confession: I was a draft-exempted scrap man who, in fear, had fled from Sanc with his wife with the intention of staying with family on the coast, not leaving the country. For which part of that should I repent? That I was collected scrap metal for sale? That I felt fear? Or that I'd fled Sanc? Maybe it was for being gay and having a wife? At that thought, I chuckled. I still had my sense of humor. I'd make it.

"Duo? You… You're awake!"

Heero stating the obvious?

"I repent of taking a wife while being gay!" I shouted, laughing, coughing, and probably becoming a little hysterical.

I was free! I wanted to dance, laugh, howl like a madman. I lay on a transport gurney, ill, lice-ridden, shrunken, but I knew two things with certainty: First, absolute power did, indeed, corrupt absolutely. Second, I would risk prison and death all over again just to see the look of adoration on Heero Yuy's face directed wholly on me and me alone.


	5. Chapter 9 Finale

Chapter 9

Time did pass. And I was living in the here and now again instead of the twilight of incarceration. And if I had been a time-traveler, then it could have happened a lot sooner. I could have gotten here as soon as now!

Yeah, well. As good as space travel has been, the engineers never figured out how to do time travel.

There were many times that I wished I could go back in time and undo the last year. I wouldn't have allowed Trowa to be drawn into the web of OZ, for one thing, and I would have quit Preventers. So would have my friends.

Then I wouldn't have had to go through the pain, the recuperation, and losing the lower third of my braid!

And Heero and I would have bonded sooner; at least, he said he'd been ready to tell me how he felt, but then held off when Trowa had been taken and Hilde and I took on that awful mission. Our last one, in fact. And then there was the fallout from that. And then I fell down some stairs…

I truly felt bad for me and what I'd had to endure in the prison camp, but I also felt terrible for Quatre. I can't say I wholly understood what he was going through, trying to put back together his relationship with his lover, but I commiserated with him when I could.

Trowa had been brainwashed, drugged, and subjected to advanced OZ programing for his role. He hadn't had a choice. That he'd been able to break through all the conditioning and release me had been a miracle and an amazing testament to his character.

And the miracle was tied to Quat's "space heart", which he'd used to reach out to him, and, I learned, to me. His message of love had sustained me there at the end and probably guided Trowa's heart and mind and, therefore, his hand, so as to avoid killing me.

Only my braid had suffered the indignity of being shortened, not that it's important. At all.

And Trowa's friends knew that he hadn't meant to hurt me. I knew it, too, but, damn, if I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye or even talk to him over a phone. He wasn't reaching out either, so it wasn't just me. The experience had caused some profound psychic damage to both of us that intellectual understanding or stupid counseling had yet to completely heal over.

Funny, though, how my braid became the center of a problem for a while. Heero, unbeknownst to me, had asked Quatre for the excised piece to be returned. I didn't even want to see it, but he had it in his head that it was a part of me and belonged with me, or, actually, him. I hadn't even known the hank was still around.

It wasn't until I got a frantic call from a tearful Quatre pleading his case to preserve the treasure that I learned what really was going on. Quatre had taped the cut end, and someone else with a forgettable name (one of his sisters?) had bound the end tightly in a complicated twine weave, so the hair wouldn't come loose. Quat really liked that there was a little red tassel dangling off the end, too. He also said that Trowa had taken to holding onto it like a teddy bear, or security blanket.

Naturally, I told him to keep the damn thing or toss it. Whatever.

"Hey, 'Ro? We gotta talk."

The crisis had reached its highpoint with Quat's call and then ended satisfactorily a few hours later. Heero was the one who had wanted my bit of hair as a keepsake or something he couldn't exactly explain. So I gave him something else he wanted more, more essential than a hunk of hair. I mean, a nice place with lots of windows and a view of the trees in the park was freedom for me and Heero decided that it was for him as well. Oh, I got us the place indirectly, for sure. I had to become a "problem case" for the Preventers staff first, but it all worked out.

(o)

Fighting in the war more than being duty-bound Preventers agents prepared the young men and woman for trials of the rescue mission. Adrenalin pumped strength, nearly instinctual survival skills, hair-trigger reaction times all led to a winning performance combination.

What it hadn't prepared them for was caring for psychologically damaged friends.

They fell naturally into pairs: Wufei tending Hilde, Quatre watching over Trowa, which left an unprepared Heero with a handful of Duo.

Heero didn't complain, but he was concerned that he wasn't doing everything right, or to the nth degree, or second-guessing what might be needed. He didn't shirk his duty, but he drove nearly everyone in the medical community to drink with his relentless questions. Duo was content and completely oblivious.

Hilde was the least effected and rebounded quickly. She met independently with both Trowa and Duo and engaged them in long conversations, and it did help them to talk to someone involved but not damaged. One piece of confidential information she passed along was the successful closure of the prison where Duo had been held. The men had been freed and treated and returned to their families. The facility had been obliterated. The Resistance was winning territory and OZ was losing it. Who was responsible? Not Preventers. No. Not them. Hilde wouldn't say, couldn't say, directly, but Rashid sent his regards, she said.

Trowa and Quatre had a complex relationship before the mission, one that included commitment and love and signatures on closest-of-kin papers. This meant that after Trowa was examined by the Preventers doctors, and cleared of physical injuries, Quatre could sign him out and whisk him away to be cared for privately.

Duo had no agreements with anyone, meaning he was under the care of the Preventers hospital until he could return to the barracks and eventually work.

Heero entered the office of the doctor in charge. The problem was Duo.

"We can't release him to the barracks because he associates it with his incarceration. His mental state requires that he not live entirely alone either."

Heero understood perfectly how that could be true. "What can I do?"

The good doctor was pleased he'd asked. "The commander has given permission for Mr. Maxwell to be released into the home of one of his close friends. His choice."

Heero nodded fractionally.

"He chooses you."

"I have no place of my own or I would be happy to invite him."

"Preventers personnel resources has prepared a list of suitable places, for your convenience."

"They want me to secure a residence and move in… and move Duo in, too?" Not that Heero minded at all! He only wanted to make certain that he'd understood the parameters.

"If you like. You may look for a place of your own choosing, of course, but Preventers is offering to subsidize part of the rent for one of these. Would you like a day or two to think about it? I can't give you more, I'm afraid. He's very unhappy here and it is my opinion that any improvement from this point forward will only come with a new environment."

Heero stood and extended a hand to take the housing list. "Mission accepted."

(o)

Heero accepted our co-habitation living arrangement far better than he had the shortening of my braid. Like I'd said, it signified freedom at last from being under Preventers ever searching eye.

Living with Heero has been interesting. So far, he hasn't told me what he'd had on his mind to tell me before the mission gone wrong. And I haven't asked. Believe me, I'm not opening a can of worms which turns out to be snapping snakes that will bite me in the ass.

I spent a lot of time in my bedroom, looking out my window at the park, the moving leaves, and listening to the peaceful sounds of barking dogs and laughing children. Heero and I take turns learning to cook. Enough said about that. We eat takeout every other night.

I know he's worried about me. I don't know how to reassure him that I'm okay. He and 'Fei and Quat get together and compare notes, I know. He tells me how everyone is doing.

After "the braid" ordeal, Trowa kept his precious security Duo-hair-clump, Quatre was happy, and God knows Heero and I were satisfied with how the conflict turned out seeing as we were living under one roof and I wasn't working.

I guess it helped Trowa to _believe_ I forgave him, although I hadn't psychically processed everything that had happened to me, or him, and certainly hadn't cleared him of his egregious errors—not in my book.

It wasn't just the hair he cut; he gave me a knock-out pill! Okay, it didn't kill me. It let me miss all the excitement. Made me miss Heero kicking OZ ass! I hate those pills. I could have helped in the escape rather than have been a lump, although Wufei says I was better off the way I was.

I could kick 'Fei's ass for that assessment of my abilities! Not really. Only in my dreams. He's gotten far tougher than me. I admit it. I'm becoming humbled by my friends achievements, by their greatness-es.

Hey! And I'm not a vindictive person! It's just that Tro and I have got some history. This wasn't the first time I'd encountered the OZ-team Trowa. And if Quatre hadn't been around, not to mention the rest of my buddies who busted me out, who knows what the dude wouldn't done to me? I wondered, but not too much about that. It didn't happen. Don't like to dwell on "what if's?"

Several meetings took place at the Preventers building during this time of "healing", the purpose of which was to review what had gone wrong with the missions. Wufei, Heero, Quatre, Hilde, and I were the guests of honor. Not Trowa, since not much had gone right and he was even more... unhinged, lets say, than I was. At one of the earlier, memorable gatherings, Une brought in her anti-terrorist specialist after having examined Trowa.

"It's been determined that Trowa Barton was subjected to a very aggressive brainwashing method of drugging in combination with hypnosis-"

I don't think she'd gotten any further before Quatre was on his feet screaming. He was upset that Trowa had been impressed into missions where he was impersonating an OZ commander. He'd been promised that that would never happen! He was filing suit! He had the money to pay for it! He'd see Une in court!

He was removed from the room and I was nearly as well, because I was cheering, "Sue, sue, sue them for all they're worth!"

Heero was convincing in the role of my protector, convincing the powers that be that I was still in recovery and to be treated gently. I was still recuperating, and he hadn't left my side for more than the time it took to take a shower.

He pressed a tiny kiss onto my temple following Quat's outburst and I settled down to listen to the psychologist explain how even a man like Trowa could be taken in.

"Fighting in a war can be very exciting. It's like 'Dungeons and Dragons,' " he said, speaking of the fantasy role-playing game. "Combine that with a sense of purpose that can take on a religious dimension, and it can be personally redemptive and transforming."

"They see that OZ is oppressed by the regime in charge, and they take on a convert's zeal," he said.

"It works best when the victim is undergoing cult mind-control indoctrination in concert. These include isolation, hypnosis, sleep deprivation, dietary manipulation and the programming of phobias."

"We should be using our knowledge of mind control psychology to undermine the control and power of the people on top of these terrorist organizations," he said.

"Agent Barton requires proper counseling, but he will become a tremendous resource in the war against OZ."

Good thing Quatre was already out of the room before he heard that one. Wufei and Heero weren't, though, and I got to say the Fei-man can still lose his cool like nobody's business.

After exploding with anger, it was Heero who lay down the law. "Trowa will receive the best counseling and care possible in the universe at Preventers' expense and then he will never tread foot inside a Preventers establishment again."

"Never!" I added for reinforcement.

It was Wufei who presented the lecture to support our position. He utilized the "ask questions" form of instruction, supplying the answers as well so as not to allow the idiots in the room any room for misunderstanding. I liked Wufei more and more the longer I got to know him. As he once said: Eloquence provides only persuasion, but truth buys loyalty.

"Gloating—and you are gloating, I _recognize_ gloating— and wallowing over successes even before the success is total is not only premature, but also carries with it the risk of people losing focus on the task at hand. What is this task? Preserving the peace. And who are we? A military peace-keeping organization. Let's not forget that it is still the military that is ruling Earth and the colonies. And a military in power is never a good thing."

I think I completely forgave Trowa after that a snappy little speech of Wufei's—talk about a good time.

I applauded. So did Heero. The three of us collectively left the room. Next time, if there were to be any next times, we would bring lawyers.

For the time being, the only thing we could do was wait and watch.

The outcome of the meeting, well, who could know? One thing was that it gave me plenty to think about, mostly that Trowa was not my enemy. He'd been used as much as I had been, even more so.

It bears repeating: the upshot was: Trowa was not at fault. We were both victims. And my stupid hair _would_ grow back. Eventually. It wasn't very important.

Really.

Not even the stupid knock-out pills.

(o)

One thing that had changed about Duo, which Heero had not expected, was that he preferred the out-of-doors to enclosed rooms. When he revealed this new characteristic to Quatre, he changed the venue and progress began toward getting Trowa and Duo to meet again.

"That makes sense!" Quatre said, relieved. "Brunches, dinners, even a poker night—I'd arranged all our previous meetings indoors. I should have picked up on Duo's feelings."

"I don't know how you could. He's been jailed before without lasting effect," Heero said.

"I know, but I usually have a knack for just knowing." The young man smiled at his friend. "I just _know_ everything will work out."

"Eventually."

Quatre smiled wider. "Now, let me be optimistic without having to defend myself."

"All right. I'm not sure."

Duo being "fine" wasn't a definite. He had been damaged this time. He smiled less, but insisted that when he did, it meant something, which was promising.

After ending the call, Quatre punched up a friend's number, one who had proposed her home as neutral territory several weeks ago. Catherine Bloom owned a home on the circus' over-wintering property. There would be a tent to sit under should it rain. Horses to ride. Funny toys. A trampoline!

And best of all, everyone seemed excited to go there and had accepted the invitation. Even Trowa. Even Duo.

When the day arrived for the get together, Heero worried that Duo might duck out at the last minute, so just before sun up he arose to make coffee.

"Hey! Just in time." Duo yanked a sweatshirt over his head. He was wearing shorts. "I'm going for a run."

"Have you eaten?" Heero asked, trying not to admire the fine looking pair of legs.

"Nope!"

Heero frowned and looked over the kitchen before resting his bag of groceries by the sink. "I guessed you'd skip breakfast."

"I'm going running."

"You never go running," Heero reminded him.

"I'm starting today."

"Okay, but if you aren't back in an hour, I'm going after you."

"Fine. I'm going around the park and back." Duo shook out his arms and stretched his Achilles pushing off a wall while his roommate watched. "I have to work off the stress."

"I'll be here," Heero told him. "I'm making pancakes with blueberries." He looked up from the basket of berries he was washing. "One hour."

"Right!"

Duo made it back with enough time to spare to shower before Heero had two tacks of cakes ready, fresh berry topping, coffee, and bacon. They both dug in, grunting with enjoyment, but not talking until their plates were clean.

"This is nice."

"What is?" Heero wondered.

"This!" Duo gestured grandly at the plate of food and then extended it to include the room and Heero.

"Including me?"

"Yeah, the food, the cook, the company. You especially. It's all good."

_All_ good. Yes, Heero felt the warmth spread through his chest, it _was_ all good. "This is a… nice place. The kitchen is large."

It was the perfect opening, but he didn't take it. Everything was going so well. To suggest sharing more than a home might not only rock the boat but sink the ship. He wanted Duo to feel he could stand on his own two feet. Maybe get a job and have freedom to choose whether he wanted to live alone or stay.

"I like the view, too. Thanks for helping me get it."

The corners of Heero's mouth turned up in a small smile. "It was my pleasure. We should go." He paused to gauge Duo's reaction, but Duo only nodded in agreement as he led the way out to the car.

(o)

Heero and I arrived at the circus camp exactly on time and just as Wufei drove into the lane with Hilde. Quatre and Trowa's car was already parked.

When I talk, I use my hands. I like to add highlights, I guess. So, while we approached our meeting place, I "accidentally" let one hand touch Heero's. On my third pass, his hand clasped mine to hold it still. My entire being was centered on that hand. Tingling.

When he didn't free it, I looked over to watch him watching me. I smiled to let him know I was happy and squeezed his hand so he'd know I was happy with the contact.

"There they are," he pointed out with his free hand. Playing it cool. As if we held hands on strolls all the time.

Maybe we would now?

I could see them sitting in on benches under the large red and white striped tent. Trowa was shooting one hand through an imaginary ring. I imagined his description of the daredevil act and how Quatre seemed totally caught up in the moment. That's how two people in love should look, I was thinking.

And that did it for me. Seeing how Trowa made Quat look at that moment and all healing I'd been going through jelled into complete the compassion and forgiveness.

He wasn't the enemy, Trowa was my friend's lover and heart-mate.

Heero freed my hand, and I immediately felt the loss of my hand-hug, but I had something important to do. I walked right up to them, ignoring the tentative looks, and gave Trowa a hug. I could feel his arms slowly enclose me and rub up and down my back.

"I'm sorry." Trowa's voice was a low whisper and emotion-packed.

"Me, too, but it's all behind us, K?"

His nod came slowly. "How are the ribs?" he asked, meaning my broken ones from the prison episode, and released his hold on me.

"Ribs?" I perked up pretending to misunderstand and stood back, ending our contact. "Hey, Cath? You cooking us ribs for lunch?"

And with a few laughs at her indignant "No, I am not!" response, our party picked up where it might have left off had we had this meeting months ago and been paired off as we now appeared to be.

"Give him the box, Trowa." Quatre smiled at me.

"They're for you," Trowa said, nudging a carton holding a vase of flowers.

"Flowers? Oh, man, these yellow ones are my new favs! Thanks, bro'! Hey, 'Ro! Take a look!"

"Nice," Heero said but he was sniffing them not looking. "What are these?"

Trowa brushed aside his bangs and smiled up at him. "Freesias. You always forget."

"I do." Heero shook his head. "But you don't."

That caused Trowa to react with a blush. "I make sure my shop always has them in stock."

Trowa owning a flower shop struck me as kinda strange, at first. Heero told me it was a creative outlet for a sensitive soul. I hadn't thought of him in that way, but looking at him now, relaxed, at peace…yeah… he'd found his true calling.

"And you always have colors I like," I added.

Quatre laughed at that. "You like anything bright. You are so easy to please."

"You hear that, 'Ro? I'm _easy_ to please."

"That's because he doesn't have to live with you," Heero quipped, moving away a couple steps before he had to deal with my denial. I knew he was joking, really.

Yeah, Trowa was a little foggy, but he'd always been a quiet man, so maybe without the threat of the call of duty hanging over his head, he was more relaxed.

"Have you noticed how…careful Quatre is of Trowa?" I asked Heero, never far from my reach.

Hilde and Wufei sauntered over into the conversation circle. We exchanged smiles, nods, and waves.

"I was thinking it the other way around," Heero said. "I think they are good for each other."

"Quatre's always needed someone to take care of, and Trowa's finally letting him," Hilde said, "That's all."

Hilde was awfully smiley and held 'Fei's hand. He didn't even mind the contact. She was working for a consulting firm in a manner similar to Quat, so that she might still have contact with the Preventers organization, but she would have more say in the operations she participated in. And so, I understood him to say, would Wufei. I had known that she was interested in him, but in my estimation, I'd say now that he was in love with her. That was nice.

"Would you like a tour of the house?" Catherine asked. "It's very old and we've maintained it just as it was centuries before. This was the manor house overlooking the farm and grazing land. When the circus bought the land for over-wintering the equipment and animals, it came with the stipulation that the house remain intact. I just love it!"

"Yeah," I agreed.

She led us up the staircase to the top story with turrets projecting out for scenic views.

I was gazing out one window with very old, I was told, watery glass, when I felt an arm settle across my shoulders.

"How are you feeling?" It was Heero's voice so close that his breath brushed over my ear, sending shivers through me. He must have felt it, too, through his chest pressed against my side, because he let go.

That was too bad. I wasn't getting used to his hugs yet, but I craved them. He put so much passion into a simple embrace, so much feeling, that he left me flying high, carried away on a cloud. He said he learned how to do that from Quatre, which made me wonder how that came about, but I didn't ask. That would have made me sound jealous and small.

"I'm feeling great!" I danced a little to show him just how great. "Ready to make some changes! I'm more than ready to find a new job. I'll be a new man in no time!" I crowed confidently.

As it turned out, it took me hardly more than _no time_ to make that change; in fact, exactly the time it took to miss a step and take a tumble down two flights of stairs.

(o)

Time mends all things.

We get up in the morning just before sunrise and sit comfortably in a place where we can watch the sun rise. I like white flowers and touches of green on the coffee table and in old tin cans on the side tables…oh and of course, heaps of candles and tea lights.

Trowa likes blue marbles best.

Together, we take deep breaths. Slow and rhythmic. Inhale and exhale. We watch the sun as it rises and feel as if we are one with the most powerful form of energy we know.

It doesn't take long until we feel all our negativity flow into the sun and burn up.

We let the sunrays give us mental strength. Drawing from it, we formulate new ideas and attain good health. The more we do this, more of the negative energy we rid ourselves of and the more positive we absorb.

Our lives are now the best we have known. We are closer to one another than we have ever been. We visualize our future as bright as the sun and are thankful for all the comforts we have. And our friends.

We bask in that glory each and every day.

- from Trowa and Quatre Winner

(o)

Once during a recuperative period following my confrontation with Treize Khushrenada, Sally Po, lent me a collection of Chinese proverbs. She meant for me to use it to pass the time, most likely, but I found myself increasingly drawn to the wisdom, simple and useful as guiding principles. I had learned a few of the catchier ones or the father-knows-best truisms as a part of my childhood education on L5, but many contained within this book were new and fresh.

On visiting Duo subsequent to his fall, I carried the book with me to share with him. One, I read aloud: "A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected without trials."

He laughed until he cried over a re-cracked rib. "I gotta be near perfect by now, don'tcha think?"

One saying turned my feet from a path of destructiveness and onto one of wholesome development. I paraphrase it here: "A man should find friends who are better than himself. There are plenty of acquaintances in the world; but very few real friends."

I realized that I had found several good friends, and one that stood out as very special. I married my best friend, Hilde, with the onset of spring. My closest friends all attended the short ceremony and wished us well. I had been accepted at the Sanc University of Arts and Letters, and Hilde had found an entirely new job working in the school's audio-visual center, far away from the pressures of the Preventers organization. With a clear vision for our future and a great outlook on life in general, we found perfect happiness and harmony in our lives, now combined into one new one.

- from Wufei and Hilde Chang

(o)

Heero and I, well, we already shared _an abode_, establishing the groundwork for what was to come. Right after I woke up in the hospital after the staircase-descent gone wrong, a new understanding took hold: we needed one another.

And from that realization came the next: we wanted one another.

This actually culminated a few minutes later with us concluding that we wanted to spend every waking hour left to us in this lifetime _together_.

Once we got going, we moved fast.

When I think back, I can't believe it wasn't a dream. I opened my eyes and Heero was sitting by my bedside. I can remember the smell of chemicals.

"Doctor Po treated your hair with lice medicine."

"Again? I thought that was over and done with months ago?" Obviously not, Mr. Maxwell! It stank.

"When they examined your head for injury, a few new nits were found. She thought it best."

"Yeah." I must have looked angry or something because Heero looked really forlorn.

"Do you want to leave?"

"Yeah," I said, naturally. Who wants to stay in a hospital? "Do I have clothes?"

"I brought some."

Heero helped me get up with bandaged ribs (again!) and balance on my one good leg, the other having a broken ankle to deal with, and even tried to button my shirt for me. I was about to push him away, when he just leaned into my face and kissed me on the lips.

I sat back onto the bed, shocked, and he looked away, as if he was considering making a run for it, but what he'd heard was an orderly bringing in a wheelchair.

"I'll take that," Heero told the hospital helper. "You can go."

Heero helped me get seated and then he held my head in his hands and kissed me again.

I was stunned, believe me, to deeper silence. He released me, picked up a small bag of drugs, and started rolling me out the door.

"You are awfully quiet. Aren't you ready to go?" he asked.

"To the house?" Yeah, it just occurred to me I didn't know where I was, what country, what planet, even. My head was spinning from the kiss.

"Our home," he said.

"Oh, yeah, right. That home."

"Yes. On earth." He smile was a little crooked like he was teasing me. "So I can take care of you while you recuperate."

"Okay, so I'd, like, live with you awhile longer?"

"Yes, as long as you'd like."

That was a huge relief. I never wanted to just assume he and I would keep going. He wasn't the kind of guy who ever talked about how he felt. Nor was I, actually. We just went with the flow, which had been good of late. But this was a change. Another change. I felt unsure of where we stood and I hadn't started looking for a new job and it certainly wasn't going to happen soon now. That made me cautious now about just assuming Heero wanted things to go on as they were.

"I feel like such a bother. It may be awhile before I can afford to get back to L2. I've probably lost my lease, I haven't paid up and this mission took way longer than expected-"

His odd expression combining "what the fuck are you talking about?" and "you poor, poor thing" stopped me in my verbal tracks. Then he shook his head and gave me that odd little smile I'd found lurking around his lips a lot lately.

"Take your time. Take forever," he added in near-whisper.

"For…? You mean-?" You mean have a relationship kind of forever?

"Don't _you_?"

I hadn't thought it would happen, especially this way, so easily, but—"I guess. We can do this."

"Yes, we can," he stated as if he was absolutely sure without a shred of doubt that we were a perfect fit and were truly committed for life.

Something Wufei had read to me suddenly popped to mind: "If we don't change our direction, we are likely to end up where we are headed."

"Okay." I wrapped my arms around my middle, shoring up those sore ribs.

He stopped and knelt in front of me. Right in the middle of the hall with people milling about.

"It was your laugh that I'd fallen in love with first," he told me.

_In love_. Oh! "Your hands," I told him. "Yep, it had been your hands I'd fallen in love with first, well, I don't know about first, but it was important, giving me scalp massages—in spite of the lice infestation."

_Love_. We were in love and admitted it. I'd been rescued; we all had been in a way, from the enemy, but also from that terrible villain, loneliness.

One kiss was followed by another, with many more on the ride home.

Oh, and it was _some_ ride!

- from Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy


End file.
